Stop for Me
by Bethofbells
Summary: He can't drive past the lone figure on the side of the road, her blue poncho catching in his high beams for the briefest of moments. Danny Castellano picks up a drifter on his cross country trek to see his estranged father. She's nothing like he expected (btw, i just realized i left a chapter out when posting, I'M SO SORRY "Tell Me" was missing)
1. U-turn

Danny is white knuckling the steering wheel when he first sees her, a fleeting flash of blue as his headlights catch the oversized poncho draped over her small frame. She's walking along the shoulder in the middle of the night like she doesn't have a care in the world, like it's not past midnight in the middle of the Arizona desert.

His fingers momentarily unclench the steering wheel and find the knob to the radio, turning up the volume to drown out the voice in his head, that voice that tells him to stop and turn around, to offer her a ride. But the radio is against him, just like everything else in his life, blaring out Neil Young's uniquely nasal voice. _When I was a hitchhiker on the road, I had to count on you._

"Are you kidding me?"

His foot finds the brake, and he skids to a stop, tires almost spinning out on the gravel beside the road as he turns around. None of this would be happening if he'd just stayed on the interstate, but the eighteen-wheelers passing him and the mini-vans full of glaring families had begun to make him sweat. When a dump truck darted in front of him, barely squeezing into a tiny gap between Danny's sedan and a motorcycle, his life had flashed before his eyes and he'd found the nearest exit.

Now he's driving in the wrong direction, away from California and a dad he hasn't seen in more than twenty years. And for what? To pick up some clearly deranged hitchhiker? Danny has some doubts about whether or not he'll be murdered in the next twenty minutes, but his conscience won't let him leave a woman alone on the road.

Her figure appears sooner than he expects, head down like she's carefully watching each step instead of the asphalt ahead. She's lucky it's a full moon, or she'd be wandering around blindly. Hell, she's lucky Danny isn't a serial killer looking for his next mark. The thought has him grinding his teeth at her stupidity as he slows down, doing his second illegal u-turn in less than ten minutes.

He slows as he approaches her, flashing his lights before driving ahead to stop, and then he waits, rolling his window down an inch and making sure the doors are locked. As expected, she walks right up to him, tapping her index finger on the window.

He can't really see her that well, and he stifles the urge to ask her to stand in front of his headlights, because that would just be too weird. Instead he squints through the crack in the window. "What are you doing?"

The question comes out all wrong. It's gruff and clipped at the end, no upswing in pitch. It's a question that sounds like a statement.

She seems not to notice, dreamily answering. "Moonbathing." Her shoulder drops down as she leans closer to the car, her lips inches away from the window gap. "What are _you_ doing?"

She doesn't sound miffed, or even sarcastic really, just genuinely curious, and Danny finds himself rolling down the window a bit more to get a look at her.

Her skin is dark, a faint sheen of sweat or maybe lotion reflects the moonlight. The poncho draped over her shoulders looks like one of the dozens he's seen in the gas stations he's stopped at along the road. The breeze catches her long dark hair and sets it to fluttering, and he's struck by the inexplicable impulse to reach out and catch the silken strands.

"I'm picking up an idiot hitchhiker... apparently." The last word comes out in a mumble, more to himself than to her. He jerks his head slightly to the right to indicate that she should get in the car.

She smiles at this, adjusting the bag on her shoulder as she walks around the vehicle, inadvertently giving him the satisfaction of observing her as she passes through his high beams. He can see that she's really embracing this "American southwest" look: a patterned headband holding her hair in place, leather cuffs at her wrists, half a dozen strands of beads looped around her neck. She looks like she just got back from Coachella. All that's missing is a giant flower tucked behind her ear. Danny is already beginning to regret coming back for her.

He presses the unlock button, swallowing hard at the synchronized sound of all four doors unlocking. He's waiting for something, and he can't quite put a finger on what he thinks is going to happen, but it feels big.

Sliding into the passenger seat, she slams the door a little too hard, apologizing half heartedly before reaching for the seatbelt. The car is already back out on the road before she clicks the metal tongue into place.

"Thanks, man. I was starting to get a blister, and I think wailing in pain attracts coyotes."

Danny ignores her, concentrating on the double yellow line in front of him. It's difficult. The floral scent of whatever perfume she's wearing infiltrates his sinuses and makes his head swim. It's not what he expected, having prepared himself for the stench of someone who hadn't had a bath in days, someone who had been hitchhiking in the Arizona heat.

The silence begins to get to him, air thick in the car like an invisible fog. It's strange, because he's normally very good at silence, not someone needs to fill the air with pointless chatter, but he can feel her vibrating next to him like the taut strings of a guitar just waiting to be strummed.

Danny blows out an irritated huff and gives in. "Hitchhiking is illegal, you know."

He's itching for an argument, possibly something to dampen the inexplicable joy he can feel radiating from her. It's making him uncomfortable. She merely shrugs at his statement. "Aren't laws weird though? I mean, when you think about it, they're just words. Words that someone has arbitrarily decided to assign higher value to. Did you know it's illegal for women to wear pants in Tucson?"

Danny blinks. She's taken his statement so far away from where it began that he almost forgets what he was getting at. "Are you stoned?"

The laugh that rings out in the enclosed space is musical. "Not at the moment, but…"

It's something he's suspected since she entered the car, a hint of a familiar sweet smelling aroma underneath the maddening scent of flowers. He feels a sheen of sweat pop up on his brow. Things of an illegal nature always make him uncomfortable. Marijuana in particular doesn't fit into his preferred black and white view of the world, the status changing from state to state. He can't recall what the laws in Arizona are. She's digging around in the bag on her lap now, and he wishes he'd never asked.

She can see him fidgeting in her periphery, and she casts him another amused grin. "Oh my god, you're so uptight. It's not like I killed someone." One of her eyebrows arches upward as she stares at him. He's bathed in the glow of the dashboard, lights from the radio casting a greenish aura over him, his face gleaming with perspiration. "You know, I think I have some indica in here… very mellowing."

Smiling, she fishes out an old Crown Royal bag, the purple velvet and gold rope drawstring look softly worn from many washes. The dusty smell of old incense and something more telling wafts up to him. He tenses up, the muscles in his shoulders bunching as he grasps the steering wheel.

"Look lady-"

She interrupts him. "It's Mindy, and you?"

He loses his train of thought, her name kicking around in the empty space between his ears. Clearing his throat, he says, "Danny."

She frowns, for the first time since he's picked her up, and it surprises him. "I don't picture you as a Danny. You're more of a… Salvatore… or…. Giuseppe... very italianate features."

"What?"

"Just a guess, but.. New York accent, dark hair, dark eyes, regal nose, small stature-"

"I'm of perfectly average stature, thank you very much." She rolls her eyes at him, a juvenile action that makes Danny's stomach do a little dance. It's the strangest thing, and he drags his eyes away from her to focus on the road again. "As I was saying… I'm not putting that poison in my body."

"Whatever. Didn't mean to peer-pressure you, _Danny_ , relax."

He snorts out his derision, slapping the steering wheel in disbelief. "Peers? Ha, right. We're not peers, _Mindy_."

"Oh really?"

"Yes, really. I'm not some hitchhiking hippie, intent on getting kidnapped, pushing away the reality of my pathetic life with drugs. I'm a rich, successful doctor in New York City. I don't need your help, or anyone else's."

She's taken aback by the acid in his response, smile fading away. Pushing away the instinct to hurl it right back at him, she blinks and really looks at him. He's still gripping the steering wheel like it's a chicken's neck he's intent on wringing, and his shoulders are bunched up, muscles undoubtedly knotted. Sighing, she lets her better nature win out.

"That's strange, because you seem like you're five seconds away from having a nervous breakdown." She points at the sweat stains blooming out beneath his armpits. "You've been trying to strangle the steering wheel since I got in, and I don't think I'm the sole cause for your anxiety."

"I don't have anxiety."

"Mmm hmm, sure." She looks away from him, letting her head fall back against the seat. "Can't rich doctors afford plane tickets to wherever they need to go?"

Danny deflates, feeling caught out. "I, uh… don't like flying."

Maybe it is anxiety, in this particular instance anyway. He doesn't know how to explain the bottomless feeling in his stomach during takeoff, the gut wrenching nausea whenever there's turbulence, which always seems to happen. He hasn't worked so hard to get where he is just to die in a fiery explosion over a cornfield somewhere in the midwest.

"Where are you going anyway?" Her chirpy question interrupts his macabre imaginings.

"Los Angeles."

"For?"

"Why are you so nosy?"

"A man has to have a pretty good reason for driving three thousand miles across the country."

"A man does."


	2. Worse than Murder

She's almost drifting off to sleep when his gravelly voice breaks the silence.

"So, where are you going?"

It's been three hours since he's said anything to her, having lapsed into stony silence since their last almost-conversation. It takes her by surprise, and for a minute she thinks she's hallucinating, then she remembers she left her mushrooms with the last generous soul who picked her up, right before he dumped on the side of the road in the middle of the desert. So, it's definitely not that. "Wherever the wind takes me."

"The wind's not taking you anywhere. I am, and I want to know where."

God, he's so pissy. She wonders why he even bothered picking her up if it causes him this much annoyance. She closes her eyes again, picturing the waves of the ocean the last time she saw them. L.A. wouldn't be a bad place to find herself again. She has friends there, a few beach bums and aspiring actors. It leaves a whole continent between her and the problems she's been running from for years. She can get her head together and start over again. "Los Angeles."

"How convenient."

"Isn't it though?" His venom is contagious, and the urge to poke at him is overwhelming. She opens her mouth to ask some inane question, to draw him into a conversation he doesn't want to have, but he's way ahead of her.

"What were you doing in the middle of the desert after dark?"

Her eyes pop open again, this time in surprise. "Not hitchhiking, officer. I promise. Did you know that's illegal?" She feigns innocence, batting her eyelashes at him cartoonishly before snorting with laughter.

The cheerful noise fades away, and she peers at him curiously, but can't discern anything from the blank expression on his face. Clearly he's not amused.

She sighs, and tries to think of a way to explain her predicament. "Ever heard the expression 'Gas, ass, or grass'?" He grunts in response and she continues. "Well, as you can probably tell, I have no money for gas, and even though I have more than enough ass, that's not exactly what the expression means, so I offered 'grass' as a form of payment for taking me to Phoenix."

"And?"

"As soon as we got far away from the bright city lights, that third option didn't seem to be enough for the gentlman, and since I didn't have any money…"

Danny blanches, pressing his lips together in a thin seam of displeasure. Anger coils up inside of him, a feeling that is never very far from the surface. "Did he-"

"No, no." Mindy looks at Danny a little strangely. He's taken his eyes comlpletely off the road for the first time since she got in the car, and he's looking with some kind of protective anger. It's not something she's familiar with. "He tried, I suppose, but then I tried to gouge his eyes out, and he ended up tossing me out instead." She tries to imbue her words with a lighthearted confidence, but fails, an unexpected quaiver trembling out on the last syllable. She's the first one to look away.

It's exactly what he expects to hear, but it still makes him angry. "You shouldn't be hitchingn rides from dangerous assholes. Don't you have a family or something?"

His sudden curiosity is surprising to her, and she finds herself saying the words that up until now she's managed to keep tamped down. "We haven't talked in years."

Danny lapses into silence again, keenly aware of Mindy breathing a little unevenly beside him. He knows what it's like to have family that's worthless, but it still stings a little when he thinks of her not having even one person to call. "Surely your mother-"

"I'm too… ashamed… maybe that's the not right word. I just need some time, ok, before I can face them. They're good people, but I can't handle their disappointment right now."

"Well, you said you didn't kill anyone, so …" He's trying to be funny, to wipe away the sad expression that has taken over her face. He doesn't like it at all. It's such a startling contrast to the lazy smiles she's been so inexplicably full of.

"I did something much worse."

Now his interest is piqued. The grim way that she drops her confession has him on tenterhooks, hands involuntarily gripping the steering wheel in anticipation. He unconsciously leans toward her, eyes still focused on the road. "Worse?"

"I dropped out of med-school."


	3. Arizona Drift

**A/n: sooo, i was going to post this just twice a week, but the chapters are so short and there are so many of them, my patience won't stand for it. So, i guess i'm gonna post a chapter a day. All comments are appreciated, and even suggestions even though i've technically already completed it, amazing ideas are fun to try and incorporate.**

The sky is pale and splotchy, like stone washed denim as the sun rises in the rear view mirror. Danny is exhausted and he knows he should stop and rest, but he just wants this trip to be over, to reach his destination and do what he has to do. The first time his eyes drift shut, it's only for a second, and he doesn't even think he really falls asleep.

Mindy is snoring softly to his right, the passenger seat reclined slightly, one arm thrown up over her face. She's no help. He fiddles with the radio, trying to find something to keep him awake, but the hypnotic rhythm of snare drums and a bass cello does nothing to make him more alert. Jazz stations are the worst, and it says something about just how tired he is when he leaves the dial where it is.

The second time his eyes drift shut it's pleasant. The sun warms the air in the car to match his body temperature and he feels like he's suspended in a cozy sea of blankets. He only wants to rest his eyes for a second, but his chin drops to his chest and the car begins to drift to the right, slowly but surely crossing over onto the shoulder.

She screams at the same time the tires hit the loose gravel, grabbing his arm to shake him awake, even though his eyes are already wide open and his foot is stomping down on the brakes. The car fishtails, skidding to a halt mere inches away from a steel sign post.

He can't hear anything over the hammering of his heart in his chest, each beat pounding in his ears like a war drum. Eventually, he calms enough to feel the soft skin of her palm where she's clutching at his hand like it's a life preserve. She's chanting to herself, some mantra he can't quite understand, her eyes squeezed shut. He focuses on the breathy words.

"It's okay, you're okay, we're okay, I'm okay."

She blinks rapidly, coming out of a daze before glancing up at him. Her eyes are wide, and he realizes that this is the first time he's ever looked at her in the light of day. She's beautiful. Her nut brown skin is even and smooth, wide eyes fringed with long sooty eyelashes. The adrenaline pumping through his veins sends a strong surge of emotion through him, and he's left breathless for an altogether different reason.

Her eyes drop to their hands, a flood of embarrassment washing over her before she starts to pull away. It leaves him cold, and against his better judgement he reaches for her hand again, holding it tightly for a moment. "You okay?"

She nods in response, mouth still hanging open in shock. He squeezes at her hand one last time before letting her go. Looking around him, he's relieved to see a large sign advertising a roadside motel. The vacancy neon is lit up like a sign from heaven. "I think we should stop and sleep maybe."

"You think?" She's smiling again. The full force of it is a thousand watts beaming across at him, her eyes crinkling slightly as she teases him.

The motel only has one room available, of course, and the room only has one questionably hygienic bed, but it's daytime and somehow the thought of sleeping together doesn't seem quite as nefarious as it would in full darkness. Even with the curtains pulled shut, the room is still dimly lit, and Mindy watches Danny fall exhausted across the faded duvet, barely bothering to kick his shoes off before his eyes flutter shut.

She's not quite as tired, and the lure of a hot shower pulls her away from the bedroom scene. The last few times she's bathed have been at rest stops where the hot water mysteriously didn't work. She slips into the compact shower, and stands under the hot water until it stops being hot.

As far as motel towels go, these are probably the most threadbare she's ever encountered, having to use two of them just to dry her hair. It smells of lavender now, and she makes a mental note to raid the bathroom before they leave.

Freshly clothed, she's steaming and as limp as a noodle when she drops down beside him, not bothering to scoot under the covers he's so rudely sprawled across. She takes the opportunity to observe him unnoticed. His features are so smooth in sleep, the stubble on his chin silver in a couple spots. He's ruggedly handsome, and she fights the urge to trace the lines of his lips with the tips of her fingers. If he wasn't so incredibly grouchy when conscious, she'd be hard pressed to fight the sudden desire she has to kiss him. The only thing stopping her is the way his brow knits in irritation every time she speaks. Sighing, she lets one finger trace down his cheek to the corner of his mouth. Too bad.

The bedside lamp shuts off with an audible click, and she closes her eyes, turning onto her back. Drifting, she barely registers the tingling sensation she feels when the back of her hand brushes against his knuckles.


	4. Into the Thicket

**A/N: This chapter may seem a little different, but I liked it. :P Comments and shared thoughts are my favorite thing in the world. :P**

There's a field of blue flowers spread about before him, creeping up the edge of a mysterious looking forrest. He can see the tops of trees scraping at the sky, swaying gently as the wind blows them to and fro. The blooms come up to Danny's chest as he wades through the thick growth, each cluster of petals the size of his head. When the silken flowers brush against his arms and neck little sparks of electricity tingle across his skin. It's not an unpleasant sensation, in fact the lingering warmth leads him to seek out the bobbing flowers.

The scent is like nothing he's ever encountered, an opiate that he can't get enough of. His breathing gets deeper and deeper as he struggles to sate the desire for more. It seems to be getting stronger the further he walks across the field, even though the flowers themselves are growing more and more scarce. He passes out of the field, the gently undulating canopy sheltering him as he enters the forest, his heart thumping in his chest as the sunshine filtering through the leaves becomes weaker.

Just as he's certain all the flowers are gone, he breaks into a circular clearing, an emerald green carpet of grass about twenty feet in diameter. Right at the center is another flower, this one impossibly huge, sun glowing from the opening above. Petals hang down like curtains fluttering in the breeze.

His hands seek out the electrified warmth, fingertips brushing against the bright blue. It's not a flower though, the silken petals are some sort of gossamer fabric that slides like water against his skin. That's when he sees them, perfect little toes peeking out from beneath the lowest hanging sheet of fabric.

His fingers draw back the fabric, and it comes to life, floating away from the form nestled at its heart. She's bare to him, arms outstretched in invitation, all smooth skin and soft floating hair. He can feel desire pulsing through him, and there's nothing he wants more than to cross the meager space between them and sink into her.

But when he moves closer to her he realizes she's just out of reach, hanging above him suspended in a sunbeam.

When Danny wakes, the room is pitch black and his nose is buried in something soft that smells like lavender. The latent desire thrumming through his limbs makes him curl into the warmth, contentedly breathing in the aroma. A round and gently yielding surface is under his palm, heat zinging through his fingers. Some primal part of his brain knows exactly what he's feeling, and responds to it, desire coiling dangerously in the pit of his stomach.

His eyes shoot open, and within seconds he's up and out of the bed, hands safely away from his traveling companion's posterior. She sleeps through Danny's moment of panic, and he breathes a long sigh of relief before stumbling into the bathroom.

The last thing he needs right now is to become entangled with some strange transient woman. His life is a mess as it is.

Everything might look golden from the outside, but he constantly feels like he's mere moments from flying apart, pieces of him flying into oblivion. Back in New York he yells at delivery boys for being five minutes late, berates his interns for making mistakes that he knows are understandable, and he even once made a barista cry for putting whole fat milk in his coffee. There's something wrong deep inside of him, an elastic band around his heart, squeezing at him so tightly that he's sometimes afraid of cardiac arrest. The unexpected call from his father last week had pulled at it until it snapped.

Trust Alan to ignore the time difference, waking Danny at midnight with the sharp trill the landline. The conversation had been short, and Danny was nearly mute by the end of it, listening to his father's supplication for forgiveness with stony stoicism.

It has been a front, crying like a child as soon as the receiver once again lay in its cradle. Danny sat motionless on the edge of his bed, tears flowing out of him for the first time in over a decade. Once the levees broke, there was little he could do to stop the flood. Hours later he was still weak, lying in the middle of his king size bed all alone, everything around him tinged at the edges with gray.

The memory fades slightly as he watches himself in the mirror. He feels like other men wouldn't have reacted so strongly to such a simple thing, but he could hear the decrepitude in his father's voice, and all the lost years are tinder fueled Danny's anger and his tears. He's still a mess, but his plan to drive across the country and break his father's nose with one good bone crunching wallop seems to hold him together for now.

Shedding his clothes, he steps into the shower, ready to wash away the flop sweat and grime of the road. The bathroom is still humid, and the scent of lavender lingering in the air is too reminiscent of his strange dream. It's not hard to imagine her in here, naked but for the foamy bubbles clinging to her slick skin, his dream filling in the gaps of his carnal knowledge. He just so happens to have his hand around his dick when the images flash into his mind, and he turns his face upwards into the cascade of hot water. His imagination has never hurt anyone, so he leans into it, stroking himself as he pictures her running her hands up and over the gentle curves of her body.

It's been so long since he's indulged in this base need that his quick finish is only mildly surprising, although the intensity of it leaves him panting and leaning his forehead against the shower tile. As always, he's immediately flooded with a frustrating combination of guilt and relief, the hot flush on his cheeks only partially caused by the water still running over him.


	5. Thanks a Lot, Merle

She's already gone when he walks out of the bathroom fully clothed. The tiny room is still dark but he can tell she's no longer snoozing in the creaky bed. Her bag is missing from the threadbare easy chair.

His stomach drops out from under him, the sudden feeling of emptiness leaving him adrift. He stands perfectly still, blinking as though he's not seeing reality. Disappointment is lodged in his chest where he thinks relief should be, and it pisses him off.

He snatches his overnight bag up and lets the door slam behind him as he sullenly stomps to the motel office to check out. It's dusk, the sky a pale orange sherbet melding into navy blue as the sun disappears from view. He can't believe how long he slept curled up next to her.

The bell above the door tinkles cheerfully as Danny pushes through it, bright fluorescent light shuddering overhead. One of the bulbs is on its last leg, making a buzzing noise every few seconds as it flickers.

And there she is, ugly blue poncho draped over her once again as she leans on the counter. The oily looking man behind it is smiling up at her, brushing crumbs off his stained western shirt. He looks like a wannabe bull rider with his bolo tie hanging loose beneath the collar.

Mindy has one hand on the other man's forearm, and she's laughing, but it doesn't sound right, not like the few times he's heard it before. It's tinny, like a lo-fi recording playing in a loop.

The man nods and reaches under the counter, pulling out a handful of tiny shampoo bottles. Mindy sweeps them off the counter and into her bottomless bag with a toothy grin. "I just _love_ that lavender shampoo." She says the word love like it has three syllables, and Danny rolls his eyes behind her. "Thanks a lot, Merle"

Danny's attention flits down to the man's shirt, searching for a name tag, but there isn't one. The idea that they've been chatting for a while unnerves him, and he steps forward, clearing his throat.

Mindy whirls around in surprise, her wide eyes lighting up at the sight of him. He forgets to breathe for a second, robotically moving forward to lay the room key on the counter. The recently conjured images of her pop back up again. He can feel his cheeks flaming, and he's grateful that he skipped shaving.

Merle snatches the key off the counter, breaking the strange tension in the air. He casts Danny a look of disgust before returning his attention to a wrinkled magazine.

Danny ignores the ire radiating from the unbathed man, instead focusing on Mindy. "We need to get a move on."

She holds up her index finger, the universal sign for "one second please," and turns back to the now recalcitrant motelier. "Is there any place close by where we could get something to eat, Merle?"

She says his name like its delicate spun sugar, and as if by magic the sour expression on his face sweetens. He pointedly ignores Danny as he gives Mindy the name of a place just a few miles down the road.

The bell tinkles again as Danny shuffles wordlessly through it, leaving Mindy to charm her newfound friend alone. He gets about three steps before he's searching through his pockets for the slightly mashed cellophane pack that lives in his jacket pocket.

He's not a smoker, not really, but sometimes when he feels restless or frustrated it's just the thing he needs to slow his racing thoughts. It's easy to sit still when there's something to occupy his hands, especially if that something has nothing to do with the thing that's making him restless.

He's smoked more on this roadtrip than in the entirety of his adult life, and yet he still refuses to call himself a smoker. The ashtray in the rental car is meticulously clean, and the upholstery doesn't even have the faintest whiff of tobacco. But right now, he's not searching for his cigarettes because he has anxiety about his father.

Much like mother's telling their squirming little boys to sit on their hands in church, Danny is looking for a way to keep himself from reaching out and grabbing the dangling ponytail of the girl sitting in front of him, tugging on it until she pays attention to him.

He sits on the hood of his car, waiting for Mindy to finish her riveting conversation with Merle. His fingers trace the gold line separating the filter from the long white tube. She would know if he smoked it, the smell seeping into his clothes and lingering on his hands. The image of her nose wrinkling in disgust amuses him. He can't help it when the corner of his mouth quirks up. He doesn't know why, but he's sure she'd take issue with it, in spite of the other things she no doubt inhales herself, and the idea of getting her riled up about something is more than a little appealing.

He hears the bell tinkle over the door, jumping like he's been caught red handed stealing money from the church collection box. The offending item gets shoved back in his jacket pocket in a jerky motion, loose grains of tobacco exploding around his fingers as it gets crushed. He pushes off the car, reaching to take her bag for her. "Let me."

She looks at him a little strangely, eyes narrowing as she tries to figure out why he's being so helpful. Better to not question these things, she decides. He's in a hurry again, ready to move on down the road. Her bag gets tossed carelessly into the back seat with his own.

A full five minutes pass in companionable silence, the only sound between the two of them the humming of the engine as it winds up and shifts gears automatically. "Cigarettes are disgusting, by the way."

She brushes away a few errant pieces of unsmoked tobacco from his thigh before turning her attention to the radio, quickly finding a station playing bubble gum pop. Danny figures she wins this round, saying nothing as Britney Spears's autotuned voice pours from the speakers.


	6. Two Pieces of Pie

The diner is exactly like every roadside eatery Danny has ever seen in the movies. Cracking vinyl on the seats of oft used booths and aluminum stools pulled up to a shiny formica counter top. The waitress even has on a powder blue dress with her white apron tied across the front, her crooked name tag announcing to the world that she is Delores. Danny fidgets with the turkey sandwich on whole wheat bread sitting in front of him while Mindy makes a spectacle of herself, grunting over a plate of home fries. The bacon cheeseburger she ordered is long gone.

"I thought you didn't have any money."

"Priorities Danny, there's a difference between gas money and money for heavenly cheeseburgers."

He rolls his eyes, blinking suddenly when he realizes he's picked up the immature habit from her. "If you have money for food, why are you eating like it's the first meal you've seen in days?"

"Because it is."

Her answer is matter of fact, and she barely pauses to drench her potatoes in ketchup before massacring them with her fork. He frowns. "I don't understand."

"Look, you can't go around flashing your money around when you're with strangers. As much as I would have loved to get the blue plate special at Maxine's Bar and Grill about two hundred miles back, I didn't relish the idea of the shady characters I was with relieving me of my precious cheeseburger money. So, I've been living out of vending machines. Fried apple pies are actually pretty good."

He arches one eyebrow. "They're really not."

"I wouldn't expect you to understand. That turkey sandwich is the most uninspired thing I've seen in a long time." Her fork drifts over to his plate, nudging at it, a look of disgust spreading across her face. "Is it… is it _dry_ Danny. Gross."

Her horror at his condiment free dinner makes him laugh, eyes crinkling in spite of his effort to reign it in. He parries her forked thrust and scoots his plate away from her. It's hard to imagine someone who clearly enjoys food so much going hungry because she's afraid of being robbed. He recalls the days when he had so little money he was living on tuna fish and whatever rejected produce he could get for half price at the market. There's an tightness in his chest when he looks at her, amusement slowly fading away. Nothing's changed between them, not really, but the enforced closeness they've endured in the past day and a half make him feel like he knows her. He suddenly feels protective of her.

"You're not worried about _me_ relieving you of your precious cheeseburger money?"

She shakes her head, tipping up the tall glass of milk to wash down her greasy dinner. "You? Puh-lease." The thick glass thumps back down on the countertop. "That watch of yours costs more than every nickel I have. Burberry 2012, custom leather band. You dropped at least half a G on that."

He gapes at her, fingering the item in question. "How…?"

She shrugs. "Different lifetime."

He turns his attention back to the half eaten turkey sandwich, finishing if off quickly, trying not to eavesdrop on the sounds of Mindy enjoying her food and chatting amiably with Delores. His traitorous brain equates her little grunts and sighs with other sounds of pleasure. What the hell is wrong with him? He's like a fourteen year old boy who's just discovered his mother's lingerie magazine. It's unacceptable.

He tries to block out the warm sound of her voice, but his ears prick when the phrase "medium chain triglycerides" falls from her lips. He isn't exactly surprised to hear the terminology. She is a former med student after all, but the way she slips into enthusiastically teaching Delores about all of the natural remedies that make him feel like he's seeing a new side of her. She sounds so much like his colleague, Dr. Shulman. Always harping about incorporating more natural medicine into their practice. Marc would like her, probably more than himself, Danny thinks ruefully.

"And, it makes my skin sinfully soft, right Danny?"

She turns to face him, waiting for him to nod in agreement or say something supportive, but he's staring at her like an idiot, and it's all he can do to keep his mouth from dropping open. Her skin? Why is she drawing him into this? He swallows, the tops of his ears turning red. A frown pulls as his lips as he searches his mind. Did he touch her when he was sleeping?

She rolls her eyes in exasperation, snatching his hand up off the counter, petting the back of his knuckles with her fingertips. "Right?"

He nods in agreement, totally dumbstruck, and it seems to be enough for her, because she turns back to the waitress and finishes her exaltation of coconut oil. Mindy excuses herself and disappears into the little girl's room, leaving Danny alone with his thoughts at the counter.

Delores smiles at him sweetly, laying down the handwritten ticket before refilling his coffee. "Your girl is a sweetheart. And she obviously wants a piece of that coconut cream pie over there." She gestures to the confection with the now empty coffee pot.

There it sits, under the glass dome of it's little display, all whipped meringue and toasted coconut flakes. Of course she wants a piece of the pie, and of course she had to drop the least subtle hints on the planet. He lays a couple twenties down on the counter, smiling up at the waitress. "Two pieces. To go. Keep the change."

His girl. How ridiculous. The corners of his mouth tick up involuntarily.


	7. Eight Ninety-five

She doesn't go to his car, walking out to the dark road instead, once again following the white line. This time there is no moon to light her path, dark clouds gathering in the sky overhead. He drives along at a snail's pace beside her with the hazard lights on until she screams in frustration and stops.

"Get in the car." Exasperation runs through his words. He doesn't know what else to do, and the thought of driving along at a snail's pace for the next couple hours makes his blood boil.

Thankfully, she owes him money, so she obliges, curling up in the passenger seat like a child. It takes her a full twenty minutes to calm down enough to explain why she angrily stomped out of the diner, leaving him standing with two styrofoam boxes and a very confused Delores. "I'm not a charity case, Danny."

"I didn't say you were. I'm sorry, ok, Jesus. Forgive me for being practical." He doesn't understand why he's apologizing, or why she's seething with anger in the seat next to him. He's _not_ actually sorry, and he knows the tone of his voice conveys his displeasure. In fact, he's rather ticked about the entire situation. "Eight ninety-five is not a big deal to me, and it clearly is to you. I just wanted… I don't see what the problem is."

She's biting her bottom lip like she's trying not to cry, and Danny has no idea what to say. He turns away from her to pay attention to the road, waiting for her response.

"Right, right. Of _course._ We've already established I'm not your peer. You can't let me forget." She's not looking at him anymore, fishing once again in her mess of a bag. She finds what she's looking for and drops a handful of crumpled bills into his lap. "There, even steven. Now stop the car."

He doesn't slow, pressing his foot down on the accelerator as if to make a point. He's not dumping her in the middle of the desert. It's cold and every few minutes thunder rumbles angrily overhead. Her reaction to his largesse is disproportionate, and he doesn't understand why she's starting to cry over eight dollars.

"What is your _problem?_ "

"People like you, just tossing money around like it's not a big deal, and then expecting something in return later."

"What? I didn't-"

She interrupts him, the volume of her voice increasing as she becomes more agitated. "What does eight dollars buy you, Danny? A quick peck on the lips? An over the jeans handy? Is it an ego thing? Do I need to kiss the feet of my savior? What?"

He's shocked at the direction her thoughts are going, and she's starting to actually cry. Words pile up in the back of his throat until they spill out in an ill conceived attempt to placate her. "You're not even my type, so relax, ok?"

She starts laughing through her tears, but it isn't mirthful. The sound borders on hysteria and Danny's stomach clenches as it crescendos. "STOP… THE… CAR." She's hiccupping between words, and the vulnerability coloring her voice pulls at him. The car begins to decelerate and he's not even at a full stop before she's opening the door and disappearing into the night.

Danny sits stunned for a few minutes, and it isn't until the first fat drops of rain splash against the windshield that he's cursing himself and running into the desert after her.

The desert isn't a pleasant place to be during a rainstorm. Each time lightning races across the bruised purple sky everything in front of Danny is illuminated. He can see the muddy rivulets of water starting to form between the squat bushes and menacing cacti. His eyes search the expanse in front of him for her form, but it's hard to see anything in the split second of light.

He calls out for her, the wind catching his voice and carrying it far away. It's useless, and he's so mad he can barely see straight anyway. Wet and miserable, he continues to move toward the only possible destination she could have had in mind.

There's a boulder, Danny guesses it's probably as big as a house, just sitting out in the middle of his field of vision. If she has any sense (a doubtful scenario) she'll seek shelter under the slight overhang on its left.

He marches on, soaked to the skin, his loafers squishing in the mud with each step. He's going blindly, kicking out his feet every couple steps to make sure he's not about to run into anything. A rather large joshua tree meets the tip of his shoe and he curses in pain while moving around it, but there's yet another obstacle in his path.


	8. Out of the Rain

Mindy's a sopping wet mess when he runs into her, the poncho hanging heavy on her shoulders as they both go flying into the mud. He can't really hear anything over the sound of the downpour, but he can imagine that indignant curses accompany the small fists raining down on him.

Somehow she ends up on top of him, mud streaked hair sticking to her face as she continues her ineffectual beating. She can't quite get the leverage she needs, trapped as she is by her twisted garment. Finally, she gives up, collapsing on his chest panting.

Danny takes the opportunity to sit up, fearful that she might get her wits about her and try and shove his face down in the slowly rising water beneath them, but she's limp against him like an exhausted child.

They're much closer to the shelter of the overhang than the road, and Danny makes the snap decision to drag her to it. She only fights him for a second, pulling away to grab her bag from the puddle it's sitting in.

The ground slopes gently upward as they trudge along, the rising elevation a comfort to Danny. He knows next to nothing about rainstorms in the desert, but he's pretty sure in any case higher is better.

The overhang is larger than it looked before, providing a full fifteen feet of coverage. He pulls her to the back wall, collapsing against the stone out of breath.

Mindy crouches in a sitting position, pulling her knees up to her chest. She stares out in the darkness as if she can see the desert spread out on the inky horizon. Danny drops down beside her, hip bumping her as he adjusts himself on the rocks.

He can tell that she's shivering, a persistent tremor shuddering through her every couple seconds. He's cold himself, the prickle of goosebumps spreading across the surface of his skin, but after their most recent interaction he's not inclined to put his arm around her. He stares out into the darkness too.

Time doesn't pass in any measurable way as they sit in silence, but eventually the whipping wind begins to ease up, and the rain begins to peter off. When the moon peeks out from behind the blanket of coal black clouds their dilated pupils take in every bit of its glowing light.

"I didn't want anything." He sounds sullen, and mentally kicks himself. "I mean-"

"I know what you mean." The words are muffled, caught in the fabric wrapped around her knees. She doesn't raise her head to look at him.

"I'm the last person in the world to try and tell you people are good. They're not. People are... depraved. They're selfish and self-centered. You're right. Nothing's given freely. Everyone is scum."

He's getting a little bit worked up as he lists all the faults of humanity, his faults. "And you're right to be wary. You got in the car with a crazy person who's driving three thousand miles across the country to bash his own father's face in. Be afraid."

He expects her to recoil from him in fear, possibly disgust, but instead he feels the gentle weight of her hand on his arm."I don't think you're scum."

He can see her in the moonlight, all the clouds chased away from the glowing orb. She's smiling again, a little weakly, but a smile nonetheless. He's hot under the collar in spite of the chill.

"Scum would have totally copped a feel back there at the motel." She squeezes his arm in reassurance, smile unwavering.

Laughter spills out of Danny unexpectedly, cutting through the thickness in his throat. "Well, actually..."

He can't get anything else out. Her tiny fists are coming down on him yet again, and suddenly he's gasping with laughter. He can hear her own amusement in the halfhearted how-dare-yous interspersed between blows.

Out of breath, she leans against him. "You're not really gonna punch your dad in the face, are you?"

Her cheek is resting against his shoulder, soft and warm against him. He can feel her body heat through the layers of damp fabric between them. "He's a dick. Left when I was thirteen without a word."

"You still miss him?"

Danny deflects. "Do you miss your family?"

"Every minute of every day." She points up at the sky. "I have a baby brother. When we were kids we used to climb up on the roof of the garage and look at the stars. Rishi could name all of the major constellations by the time he was seven." Her fingertip tracks across an invisible line. "I was terrible at it. I think that's _Ursa Major._ "

"You didn't live in the city?"

She shakes her head. "Suburbanite through and through... When I'm not hoofing it across the country."

"About that..."

"Med school wasn't what I expected. Everything before had come so easily, and it was just... I didn't even know if it's what I wanted, and the loans were stacking up to hundreds of thousands of dollars." She shrugs, voice getting quiet. "So one day, I just left. I call sometimes, so they know I'm okay, but... It's been so long, I can't go back."

"Why not?"

"It's all they ever talked about. Doctor doctor doctor..." She sneaks a glance. "You know what it's like."

One side of his mouth quirks up in an ironic smile. "Not really, no. Ma was always more concerned with keeping me out of trouble than getting me into med school."

"Troublemaker?"

"Not any more than any of the other kids on the island."

"And your dad wasn't there..."

He's kind of astonished at how she has circled the conversation back to the topic of his father. Apparently deflection isn't effective with her. His legs scrabble around on the gritty sandstone, feet trying to find purchase. In seconds he's pulling away from her, ineffectually dusting the grime off. "Let's get back to the car. If we're lucky we'll make it to L.A. by sunrise."

She nods and accepts his help up, teeth beginning to chatter as the chill makes its way through her abused blue poncho. This time he doesn't feel so odd about putting one arm around her shoulders.

 **A/N: to the one person who left a review, thank you so much. I really appreciate you taking the time to let me know what you think. It makes me so happy.**


	9. A Buffer of Sorts

Danny's right about reaching L.A. by sunrise. They come up on the outskirts of the city just as the sun peeks over the horizon. His circadian rhythm is all out of whack, and the rising sun only seems to make him sleepy.

The car is a mess, muddy clothing tossed in the back seat, empty food containers crumpled in the floorboard. Mindy's asleep in the passenger seat once again, soiled outerwear temporarily abandoned. Curled up in a ball, she has the chair scooted forward as far as possible, vents angled toward her as they blow out toasty air. There's a streak of cream on her cheek left over from the pieces of pie she devoured with happy gusto. He's only minorly annoyed that he didn't even get a taste of the troublesome confection.

Danny isn't really sure why he drives past the address in West Hollywood that she gave him. Maybe it's fear. The closer he gets to his father's ranch house, the more he feels like he needs something to hang onto, and she's the only thing within arm's reach.

Alan is an imposing man, at least in Danny's memory, and all of his grand plans for greeting him with a knuckle sandwich look smaller and smaller as the distance closes. He holds his breath, hoping she'll sleep through the sounds of traffic in the city. It's early enough that there aren't too many blaring horns, and he quickly maneuvers out of the heart of the city, once again en route to his father's place.

She sleeps, and sleeps, until he begins to wonder if maybe something's wrong. Her purple bag of goodies still makes him nervous, and it's only beginning to dawn on him that he doesn't know her at all. How the hell would he explain a dead hitchhiker to state troopers in California? His anxiety is making his head spin with ridiculous scenarios, and he's aware of this, but there's nothing he can do to make it stop.

It's only when the GPS instructs him to turn down a dusty dirt road that he lets go of the steering wheel with one hand and tries to shake her awake. She responds immediately, his sopping wet hand unpleasantly clammy against her dry skin.

"What the hell?" Her nose is wrinkled as she sits up, more words of irritation ready to spill out, but her eyes widen in alarm as she takes him in.

If she thinks he looked like an anxious mess before, now she's pretty sure he's about to have a heart attack, and it freaks her out a little. "Pull over, Danny."

He turns to her, red faced, and shakes his head. "No, look, I'm sorry, but I don't have…" He trails off, at a loss for how to articulate what he needs from her. "I know you wanted to stop in L.A., and I'll take you back there, I promise, but-"

"What?" She spins around in her seat, for the first time peering out the windows to take in her surroundings. All she sees is open desert, miles and miles of it. The dust billows behind them as the car continues to move along. "Oh my god, you're going to kill me. You have a compound in the desert, and you need a sex slave, and you're going to kill me. I always knew it would end this way."

The last word comes out as a wail, and Danny jerks his head around in surprise. "No. I'm not- you can't be serious."

"You've kidnapped me!"

"No, not technically, I just-" He runs one sweaty hand through his hair, regretting the action almost immediately. He can feel the strands sticking up at odd angles, and knows he must look like a lunatic. "I need to borrow your company for a little while."

"Borrow my company?"

He nods, swiping at his face with his forearm. "Can we please turn the heat off?"

"It's your car."

"It's a rental."

"I don't see how that-"

"Please, just turn it off."

She purses her lips together and flips the switch off, waiting for him to finish his strange request

"I need a buffer." Danny is grasping for words. He doesn't know what he needs, just that he can't face Alan alone. A part of him would like to believe it's to protect Alan from his anger, but in truth it's because he thinks he might start asking a million questions, and blubbering like an idiot.

Her hair, a tangled mess from last night's incident, swings around her shoulders as she shakes her head. His stomach drops with disappointment and he prepares to turn the car around, easing his foot down on the brake pedal.

"Danny, you've got to figure out a way to manage your anxiety. I know what you said before, and even though a little pot never killed anyone, I guess I get it. But, you obviously need to talk to someone about..." She trails off, gesturing vaguely at him. "Whatever is causing this."

"I don't need anything. I'm fine!" He's so clearly not fine, nausea tearing at him from the inside. The bile is sitting in the back of his throat and he can feel his esophagus tightening. He recognizes the final warning sign, and dramatically slams on the brakes, skidding the car to an abrupt halt. He's out on the side of the road in seconds, dry heaving.

Following him, her hand finds its way to his back in seconds, rubbing comforting circles as he dry heaves. "I thought I was the only person who got stress barfs."

There is amusement in her voice, but it's gentle and tempered by more than a little sympathy. The spasms ease up until he's just breathing hard, full of embarrassment at her side. He can barely pull gather himself enough to take his hands off his knees and stand up straight. "That's not-"

"Look, I'll make you a deal."

"A deal?"

"Yup. You want my company so badly, I'll give it to you, but under one condition."

 **A/n: I appreciate people having the patience with the short chapters. I like the scene-by-scene flow though. Please feel free to let me know what you thing as it goes along.**


	10. Partaking

He stares at her, waiting for her ultimatum. Certainly it'll be something insane. She probably wants him to take peyote and run naked through the desert. At this point there isn't much he'd say no to, and it scares him a little. "Well?"

"Relax, I'm not gonna force you to get high, even though I think it would be good for you. Since you're so averse to that, you're gonna have to partake in some therapy."

"Therapy?" He's parroting her words, the last defense of someone who's genuinely giving up.

"Mmm hmm."

Backing up, she lifts herself up onto the hood of the car. She has some difficulty, flailing her legs as she tries to wiggle back. Danny instinctively steps forward and assists her. His hands mold perfectly to her waist, gripping gently as he lifts her up. He's wedged between her knees, the hands on her totally superfluous at this point.

He could lean forward, so easily, and press his lips against the pulse fluttering gently at her neck. He can still smell the faintly sweet aroma of her shampoo in spite of their little foray into the desert. She wiggles again, the skirt of her dress bunching between her thighs against him. Desire flares inside of him, and he reaches forward, lighting one hand gently on her cheek. It's his go to move, the thing he always does right before drawing a beautiful woman in for a kiss.

Her own breathing stills, and she stares across at him with wide eyes. He chickens out, drawing his thumb across the errant streak of whipped cream sticky on her brown skin. Clearing his throat he backs away. "There was some, uh, schmutz." He rubs his thumb on the rough denim of his jeans, trying like hell to dislodge fluttering in his stomach.

He thinks maybe he imagines the little sound she makes, a swallowed sigh of disappointment, but he can't discount the way her shoulder droop as she scooters further up on the hood. She casts him a pleasant yet restrained smile, returning to their previous activity. "Welcome to my office. I'll need you to lie down on the couch over here." Gesturing to the empty expanse of hood beside her, she waits.

A muffled groan escapes him. "Come on, that's ridiculous."

Her only response is to cross her legs and rest her arms on her knees, palms up as though she's meditating. After a second Danny realizes she _is_ meditating, a whispered mantra falling from her lips. _Om Dum Durgayee Namaha._

"Alright, alright, stop." He climbs onto the car with her.

"Actually, this is part of it."

"I'm not meditating."

"Fine, just… breathe deeply with me for a minute, okay?"

He huffs out an irritated breath, drawing her attention.

"Not like that. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Close your eyes and take deep even breaths, until your mind is clear." She can tell he's still resistant, and tries to appeal to him intellectually. "Danny, there's empirical evidence that shows deep measured breathing can lower blood pressure, your heart rate... anxiety levels." Frowning, she continues. "I don't exactly have a biofeedback device but-"

"We have something like that… well, the hospital does anyway.."

Once again, he's graced with a bright wide smile. "Really? I've always wanted to try one out. That's so cool. Maybe you could try it one day, let me know if this breathing helps you."

"Maybe." Her enthusiasm gives his reluctance one last shove, and suddenly it's floating off into the clear blue. What could it hurt?

She leans back against the windshield, mirroring his pose. Her shoulder bumps against his, and he draws in a breath as instructed. When he blows it out something heavy goes with it, and he feels the muscles in his back begin to relax. Instinctively, he opens his eyes, looking to see if there , actually was something pressing down on his chest.

There's nothing, of course, and he returns to the steady breathing. Secretly he marvels as the way his heart slows and his skin cools, as she continues to guide this little exercise. Her voice is calm and measured as she ticks off her instructions. He's almost disappointed when she reaches the end, trailing off quietly, her own eyes drooping slightly as if half hypnotized.

He expects her to jump in immediately, attack him with a barrage of pointed questions, but she just continues to lay by him, chest rising and falling softly as she gazes into the bright blue expanse over them.

"Better?"

He is, suddenly, and he can't tell if it's the simple breathing exercise or the knowledge that she's there beside him, that she will be beside him as long as he asks nicely. His pride won't let him admit her methods have merit, though, and let's out a noncommittal grunt instead.

"Okay then, tell me why I have to come with you."


	11. Role Play

If the point of meditation is to clear your mind, erase all the spinning thoughts and words, then Mindy's question is far more effective. Danny's speechless, mouth dropping open like a fish gasping on dry land. "I don't- it's just... There are things-" He stops and starts, eventually blurting out, "I don't know."

"Yes you do."

He grinds his teeth, muscles in his jaw knotting as he fights the answer. "I need someone to... to go with me... because if it's just up to me, I'm turning around right now and driving back to New York."

"Why are you visiting him?"

"He called a couple weeks ago. He sounded weak and old, not at all like the person I remembered."

"Not really an answer."

Danny grinds his teeth, wishing he weren't so desperate for her company. He should just get back in the car and take her back to L.A. Instead he takes a deep breath, blowing it out slowly. "Because it just occurred to me that he's mortal, and probably going to die eventually... maybe even soon."

There's a tickle on the back of his hand, the tip of her index finger tracing the line of his knuckle down to his wrist. "You make fists when you talk about him. Still planning to rearrange his face?"

"It's what I told myself when I was packing my bag, when I plotted out the trip. I wouldn't have come otherwise."

"But?"

"But no. He's seventy. He'd probably have an aneurysm, drop dead at my feet." Danny can picture it, and derives no pleasure from the scene.

"Then what do you want?"

"Answers? Not bullshit excuses, but answers, finally." It is answers he wants, but fear of what those answers may be is another reason he needs to tote Mindy along with him. He can't fall apart with her watching, the stitches holding him together can't unravel while under such bright eyed observation.

"You know, you probably won't get that."

"Great. I thought you were supposed to be helping."

"You might get closure though."

Danny snorts in derision. "Closure. There's no such thing. It's an invented term tossed around by scam artists, life coaches, and sweaty yogis. No offense."

"None taken. _I'm_ not the sweaty one here."

He ignores her jibe. "No one needs closure."

She's basking in the sun like a pleased feline, face turned upward, eyes closed. Danny wishes her sopping poncho wasn't lying in a damp heap in his back seat, because now she's only wearing a thin cotton dress, spaghetti straps like two strands of iridescent fairy floss glowing white against her dark skin. He finds himself staring at the embellishment around the neckline, a hand stitched border of tiny little flowers, each one cerulean blue with a nearly microscopic green leaf. The floral pattern trembles slightly each time she lets out a long breath.

"Helloooo, earth to Danny!" She pokes him gently in the ribs, and he shies away from her touch. "Did you hear what I said? Saying your piece can't be a _bad_ thing. Whether you call it closure or some other 'made up' word doesn't matter."

"I guess."

"Want to practice?"

"No."

"Oh, come on. We could role play. I've always been into that." She wiggles her brows at him suggestively.

Her irreverence has the intended effect, and his lizard brain is supplying a host of inappropriate images. His heart thumps wildly in his chest, sending blood coursing through his veins. Suddenly he wants her, desire kicking him in the gut. He hopes she's oblivious to the flush he can feel heating his skin. He tries to focus on the conversation at hand, and the idea of her pretending to be his father cools his ardor somewhat. "No, somehow I don't think you'd be very convincing as my father."

"Why not? I'd make a fine grumpy old Italian geezer." She pooches out her bottom lip, hand gesturing emphatically in front of her as she deepens her voice. "I'm making you an offer you can't refuse."

"What is that?"

"Charles Brando… _The Godfather_ … Are you even a guy? Everyone knows that."

" _Marlon_ Brando, christ. Don't do that, it's offensive."

They're both sitting now, turned slightly toward one another. The space on the hood is limited, and Mindy's knees keep bumping into his when she wiggles. "Offensive to who?"

"Marlon Brando? Italians? _Actors?_ Pick one." He's laughing now, at the outraged expression on her face.

She shoves at him playfully, but the waxed hood is slippery under him and he goes flying off into the dusty road, the air whooshing out of his lungs in a pained wheeze.


	12. Buzzing

He doesn't even have time to register the sensation of rocks jutting into his back before she's scurrying around the car. Dropping to her knees, one hand rests gently over his heart while the other one flutters nervously between checking the pulse at his neck and sweeping the hair away from his sweaty forehead. "Oh-shit-oh-shit-oh-shit, you're not breathing." The panic bubbling through her pitches her voice high, the words all running together as they tumble from her lips. "Come on, Danny. Breathe. In through your nose, out through your mouth. Just like you've been doing your whole life."

As if on cue, he catches his breath, sucking in a strangled gasp. He could have only been struggling for air less than a minute, but it feels like an eternity to the both of them, Mindy letting out a little cry of relief before swooping down and capturing him in an awkward hug.

Her breath is hot against his ear, the fringe of his hair fluttering as she gives her thanks to the universe. "The authorities never would have believed killing you was an accident."

His hand is resting on her waist, just above her hip, the fingers itching to travel to the spot they'd rested once before. There must be some part of him that's severely masochistic, because he doesn't give in to the urge (even though she smells like lavender and spice, and he's breathing deeply, just as she instructed).

He's tempted to just lay there and let her fuss over him. No one ever does that, and it feels nice, in spite of the constellation of bruises that's undoubtedly forming on his back as her weight pins him down. He wouldn't mind slowing time just a little, memorizing the smell of dust settling around him, the electric feeling in the air. Idly he wonders if it's going to storm again soon.

She's got one arm curled around his neck and they're lying chest to chest, her lower body angled away from him. He wishes he had the wherewithal, or even courage, to drag her fully on top of him, let his hands roam where they may. Instead he lies like a nervous teenager, unsure of where they stand as his fingertips trace the seam at her waist.

The dress she is wearing is surprisingly thin, body heat seeping through it like water running through a sieve. It would only take a flick of his wrist, and the barely there straps would slide down her smooth shoulders. He could splay his hand across the softly jutting angles of her body, let her hair cascade over him like a waterfall.

Naturally, just as he's about to take leap into the unknown and capture her lips in a stolen kiss, she pulls away, scrambling to her feet. She stops to readjust her neckline before bending down to offer him a hand up. Her palm fits pleasantly against his, and he's impressed by her surprising strength as she hauls him up, bracing herself against the side of the car. It's for the best, he thinks. She seems utterly oblivious to the machinations of his wayward libido.

Back in the car, Danny twists the key in the ignition, and Mindy continues to chatter outside the car, batting away the dust from her skirt as she peers at him through the window. "Delores would have been the state's star witness."

Her words come out of nowhere, and he worries that maybe he hit his head when he fell. "What?"

"In my murder trial. She would have gone on and on about how I was an ungrateful little tramp who yelled at you for buying me pie. The jury would have eaten it up." The passenger door is open and she's sliding into the seat. Apparently their therapy session is done for now.

He only shakes his head, amazed at the scenarios she seems to constantly be dreaming up. "The pie?"

"Delores's testimony, Danny. Jesus, do you have a concussion?"

Before he can answer she's arching across the space between them, reaching for him. Her fingers thread through the hair at his nape, gently checking for any strange lumps on his scalp. It's a nice sensation, sending shivers up Danny's spine. Shrugging her off, his hands find the steering wheel again. He can almost convince himself that the buzzing in his skull is the result of the faint vibrations of the car as the engine hums. "She liked you."

Mindy's barely paying attention to him now, rolling down her window with a satisfied grin. The air rushes in, pleasantly dry and warm. "I think she liked you more, and I was liked by association."


	13. Suburban Housewife

The rest of their drive is uneventful, although Mindy does make him pull over right before they arrive so she can change. Dumping her bag out in the passenger seat elicits a sad little whine from her. It appears that the few items of clothing she carries with her are either wet or stained.

"I can't meet your dad like this."

"What? It doesn't matter. What you're wearing now is fine."

She glances down at her dusty white dress, bare toes peeking out from the ragged hem. "Danny, who is your dad gonna think I am to you? Dressed like this. And, oh my god, look at my hair, it's a rat's nest and there's dried mud in it."

She doesn't stop to contemplate exactly why she feels the need to make a good impression on his father, or why she's suddenly self conscious about the bits of dry plant matter tangled in the waves of her hair. It's just that he'd looked at her so strangely earlier, and she couldn't get a read on him. It was usually easy to see what stranger's saw. She was either a pathetic lost soul to be pitied out on the road, or the target of some pretty salacious intentions. Very rarely was there any kind of in between.

Instead of the argument she's expecting, he merely sighs and pops the trunk to drag out his suitcase. "There's gotta be something in here."

His clothes smell like him, unsurprisingly of course, but fainter, like a scent shadow. The clean smell of detergent nearly drowns out the slightly sweet aroma of his cologne and even the not so unpleasant odor of long ago smoked cigarettes. She takes her time going through the garments, looking at each neatly folded article of clothing like it's going to reveal something about the man standing impatiently beside her. His packing job is efficient in a way that's hard to believe, socks like little sentinels all in a row at the top of the suitcase, toiletries all contained in the zippered pockets.

She ends up wearing the one salvageable pair of tights she owns and one of his crisp blue button downs (there are three identical ones stacked on top of each other), the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. He even fishes out a hair brush for her to run through the mess of raven waves springing out around her head. Danny's attention is absorbed, watching as she threads her slim fingers through the locks, transforming them into a long braid flipping over her shoulder. His gaze makes her feel self conscious, blushing as the bristles knock free the remaining debris.

She turns away from him, hiding the helpless smile she feels tugging at the corners of her mouth. She pretends to admire her reflection in the side of the dirt streaked car, saying, "I look like a suburban housewife."

In truth, she kind of marvels at the way she looks, feeling like a chameleon in the bright desert sun. If she squints, she looks like a picture of her mother, some faded polaroid from the early eighties. It makes her chest feel funny, a little pitter patter for things that are still out of reach, and something else still for the man whose eyes she can still feel on her exposed skin.

She needs to break the spell. Throwing her arms up over her head, she spins in a lazy pirouette, laughter wrapping itself around her. "Maybe not your average housewife."

When she stops, Danny is still watching, one corner of his mouth hitched up in a crooked smile, the faintest hint of a blush creeping up his neck as he realizes he's been caught staring. He clears his throat bashfully, and comments, "Not even close."

* * *

Mindy plants her palms firmly on Danny's chest and digs her heels in, pushing back against his forward movement. "Turn around, right this minute." The words hiss out in an angry whisper.

They're just close enough to his father's front door that someone might hear if they start yelling at one another, so Danny hisses right back. "I've changed my mind!"

"You didn't spend over a week on the road to chicken out. Turn around!"

The front door swings open with a faint squeak, and Danny freezes, a blank look settling over his face. Mindy slides her hands from his chest to his shoulders, and encourages him to turn and face the father he hasn't seen in twenty-five years.

Alan Castellano is not how Mindy pictured him. She expected an older version of the man standing beside her, soft dark eyes and defensive stern expression, but what she encounters is nothing of the sort.

Alan is much taller than Danny, shoulders broad underneath a faded flannel shirt. Mindy can see that once he was probably quite an intimidating figure, but now age has made him thinner, cheekbones a little too pronounced. His face is heavily lined, years of wear and tear coupled with the dry heat of the desert have made him look drawn, and she can see the faintest hint of jaundice in the whites of his eyes. She can't imagine what it's like for Danny to be seeing him for the first time in so long.

The tension is horrible, and it's hard for Mindy to fight the urge to jump in with some off the wall comment, but she does. Instead, it's Alan that breaks the silence, croaking out Danny's name like it's a word from some foreign language he's only begun to learn.

Mindy can see Danny's right hand curling into a fist, and it alarms her. She's not so sure that he's abandoned his violent plan, but she knows it would be a terrible idea to take a swing at the old man. The horrifying image of a brittle orbital socket crumbling in on itself propels Mindy into action. Stepping forward she slips her hand down his wrist, prying his fingers apart with her own until they're holding hands. It snaps Danny out of his trance, and he glances down at their interlocked digits frowning.

Alan observes them quietly, looking back and forth between them. Realization settles over the old man and he smiles, temporarily brightening his wizened visage. He steps back, clearing a path through the doorway. "Danny, come inside. Have a seat. You and your wife look tired."


	14. Eavesdropping

Mindy isn't eavesdropping... exactly. It's just a coincidence that she's stopped in the hallway on the way back from the bathroom, and it's an unexpected surprise that this is the perfect acoustic spot to hear the deep voices floating out of Alan Castellano's living room.

Truthfully, spying is not her intention. The black and white photo on the wall really does grab her attention as she breezes by. She can't help that the conversation she's hearing is far more interesting than a grainy picture of a man on a fishing pier. It's also not her fault that she has a highly developed sense of hearing. Each sound wave that wafts past her ears is crisp in its melodic intonation.

She probably looks like a mental patient, lips parted as she creeps closer to the end of the hall, eyes cut sideways as if looking in the direction the sound might be coming from will help.

After they entered the house, things became awkward fairly quickly. Danny made no move to correct his father's assumption, merely holding her hand more tightly as they shimmied past the foyer, and Mindy wasn't sure what good it would do to pipe up with a contradiction.

It was only when they were seated on the mustard yellow couch, something that had definitely seen its first days of life in the seventies, that she began to feel uncomfortable.

The springs in the seat were past whatever effectiveness they once had, and when the newly minted couple sat down, the cushions sank dramatically. Mindy and Danny both sunk toward each other into the valley created by their weight. She found herself struggling not to spill into his lap, her free hand awkwardly braced against his shoulder, while Danny glared at his father and squeezed the life out of her hand. Alan's courtesy was the only thing that saved her.

"Would you like something to drink, sweetheart?" He was looking at her, almost pointedly, barely glancing at Danny from the corner of his eye. Mindy wondered if it pained him to look directly at the child he'd abandoned, if it was like staring directly into the sun.

"Um, actually, could you point me to the little girl's room?"

Alan gestured toward the hall, the entrance connecting to the living room at a right angle. "Last door on the left."

She shot up, eager to let these men get on with their reunion without her, but she only took one step before her arm swung out, still attached to Danny's hand. Turning back to him, the expression on his face was enough to weaken her resolve. His eyes were wide, pleading with her to just sit back down.

Instinctively, she turned back toward him, bending slightly to look into his eyes. "I'll be right back." She punctuated her reassurance with a soft kiss on the cheek, and his grip relaxed and she was free.

She's thinking of that soft kiss as she creeps even further down the hall. She's not sure what prompted it, but it had only seemed natural at the time. Her lips still tingle from the scratchy stubble. It's not an unpleasant sensation, and her fingers unconsciously trace the line of her bottom lip as she listens.

"Danny, how have-"

"It's Dan."

"How have you been?"

"Okay."

"Of course you are, you're a Castellano, tough as nails."

"Sure."

Danny's clipped single word responses worry Mindy, and she begins to think leaving the two alone was a bad idea. Her toe drags along the baseboard as she scoots closer to the entryway.

"How's your mother?"

"Why do you care?"

"Look, Netty and I -"

"Annette."

The t's in his mother's name come out hard, bitten off at the end, and Mindy can imagine the way his jaw his probably working, muscles bunching at his temple. Her palms lay flat against the wall. The painted plaster is cool against her skin.

"We have our differences, but I've always cared about her."

"Funny how that works."

"What do you mean?"

Finally Alan seems unable to ignore Danny's antagonism, the gravel in his own voice giving way to a gruff and sonorous question.

"You don't abandon people you care about."

Danny's voice is thick and tears prick at Mindy's eyes. He's obviously not talking about his mother, and the hitch in Mindy's breathing stops her slow progression down the hall. She wishes there was something she could do to ease the tension in his words, closing her eyes for a brief moment.

Sometimes she thinks all of the mysticism she's learned while traveling is nothing but a bunch of nonsense aimed at tourists looking at crystal pendants in gift shop windows, but how can anyone explain the tendrils of connection she sometimes feels? And _feel_ them she does, silken threads physically tugging her in the direction she needs to go.

They're tugging her toward Danny. When she closes her eyes she can imagine the ghostlike energy flowing out of her and wrapping itself around Danny's tense form. It's visualization, a technique she only implements when she really wants something, and right now she really wants Danny to let go of some anger. She repeats a simple yoga mantra under her breath, ears straining to hear the conversation.

"Trust me, son, it's better this way."

"Are you kidding?"

"I know what it's like to have a bad dad. I was sparing you."

Mindy is utterly absorbed. In her old life she was a reality tv junkie, and this is better than any "unscripted" melodrama she's ever seen. The emotions she can hear in the two voices bowl her over, and her tendency toward empathy sets her stomach to churning as she leans forward, neck craning as she's drawn inexorably toward the fraught conversation.

Alan's excuse is the last straw for Danny, and he raises his voice for the first time. "Oh, that is bullshit and you know it. I was _thirteen_ when you left, not a baby like Richie. Yeah, you were no prize, but trust me, a bad dad was better than no dad."

"All I can do is apologize, Danny."

Suddenly Mindy is tumbling out into the living room, cursing like a sailor as she grabs at her shin. There's a cast iron doorstop shaped like a horse at the end of the hallway, it's eyes painted on lazily. The wall-eyed thing stares at her mockingly while she mutters in pain. "Son of a bitch."


	15. Boxed Wine

Before she can scramble back to her feet, Danny has his hands on her, gingerly giving her a pat down. It's all very clinical, a doctor looking for injuries, but the warmth of his touch sets her skin to tingling. She instinctively follows the movement of his hand like a cat looking to be stroked. Just as she's about to make a fool of herself, his fingers gently probe the lump forming on her shin. A hiss escapes her through clenched teeth, and Danny rolls up her legging, revealing a nasty purple bruise already forming.

"At least you didn't break the skin."

He moves to help her up, offering an arm for support. Alan mirrors the movement on her left side, and in what seems to be quite a strange turn of events, she finds herself suspended gently between two very concerned men as they walk her back to the sofa.

She waves them both away, the full embarrassment of her clumsiness washing over her. "I'm fine, I swear."

Looking up, she finally sees the resemblance she's been searching for. It's not in their features exactly, but deeper down, settled in the identical look of concern they're both wearing. Danny has his hands on his hips, frowning ever so slightly as he gives her an unsubtle up and down glance. "You should be more careful."

Alan cuts in, a sheepish look on his face. "He's right. This place is a bit cluttered."

'A bit cluttered' is an understatement, to say the least. Mindy can see what looks to be the collection of a lonely life piled here and there. Is not dirty, it's just that there are a lot of things. Records, books, antiques. You name it, and Alan has some form of it. She sees it as the physical embodiment of all the wrong decisions that he has made. This is what happens when you forgo the company of other people.

"She needs ice." It's a request, or at least the closest Danny can come to asking Alan for anything, and the older man complies immediately, ducking through a doorway.

"You have to forgive him."

The air crackles for a second before Danny whips his head around, eyes wide. "What?"

"You don't want to end up like this." She's whispering, not certain if it's because she doesn't want Alan to hear, or if she's simply afraid of how Danny will react.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"He hates his father, too, only he's pushed everyone away because of it."

"We're _nothing_ alike." The assertion is firm, like he's said it thousands of times, and yet Mindy thinks he doesn't really believe it.

"You have more in common than you'd like to admit. You're a doctor, right? Do genetics mean nothing?"

"What are you trying to say?"

"Your first instinct is to cling to anger and bitterness. You have to consciously decide not to do what he would. That means you need to forgive him."

"You sound like a self help book." His voice oozes with derision, as if she has 'for dummies' stamped across her forehead.

"I just don't like the idea of you ending up like this. It's depressing." There's a lump in her throat when she imagines Danny alone and angry at seventy years old.

"It's hard to take advice from someone who has ten bucks to their name. How are _you_ going to end up? What happens after this?"

Mindy tells herself the tears pooling in the corners of her eyes are just residual leftovers from her injury, and she almost believes the lie. "Let's make a deal."

"Always bargaining..." He grumbles, but he's already softening toward her, the tightly coiled defensiveness falling away.

"You do this... And I'll go back to Boston, face my parents and... everything else."

* * *

Danny can't believe how light he feels once he agrees to her plan. Forgiving his father is no easy task, to be sure, but he no longer feels like he's drowning in hatred every time he looks at the man. It's more like he feels sorry for him, and pity is an easier burden.

So much easier, that when Alan offers them lunch, Danny merely nods and accepts the invitation, getting up to go through his father's record collection while they wait.

The food is exactly what he expects, cold cuts on white bread, piles of potato chips teetering on the paper plates as the bag is passed around the tiny table. Alan is generous enough to pair the meal with a cheap red wine. Danny winces as the sugary concoction spills down the back of his throat.

"Wow, this is so good. It's like sangria." Mindy gulps at it, licking her lips as she sits her glass down. "You'd never know it came from a box."

Snorting, Danny glances at her to see if she's serious, but the smile on her face looks as genuine as always. He's elbow to elbow with her, crowding a little as he attempts to maintain a healthy distance from his father. "It's a little early to be drinking, don't you think?"

The question is indirectly aimed at Alan, and his father responds cheerfully. "Relax, Danny, it's wine. Doesn't really count."

His resolve to be civil bends, warping under the weight of his father's cavalierness. It's like Alan wants him to remember all of the missed dance recitals, all the forgotten allowances, all the times his father came home at three a.m. stinking of stale beer and cigars.

Dropping her hand to his knee, Mindy jumps in, magically breaking the sudden tension. "So, Alan, what do you do out here in the desert?"

Danny doesn't hear his father's answer, focusing too much on the way her rounded nail tips look against the dark washed denim of his jeans. She gives him a light squeeze to indicate that he should respond to something (God knows what). When he says nothing she jumps back in.

"A barber at the army base? That's so cool. I've always wanted to be able to cut my own hair."

Cool? It's not cool. Alan knows it. Danny knows it. Surely Mindy knows it. His father stands in one spot and gives dozens of young men identical crew cuts all day long. It's undoubtedly tedious, but she's sitting there smiling at his father, trying so hard to help him make small talk. Danny takes a deep breath and tries again. "I guess it would save money."


	16. No Funny Stuff

The ceiling tiles in Alan Castellano's guest bathroom are discolored, possible water damage tinging the edges in the corner over the bathtub. The bathroom itself isn't dirty exactly. In fact, it's spotless, as if no one has used it in a very long time. The color scheme is a collection of taupes that makes Danny feel like he's in the saddest sepia western ever filmed. He fidgets in front of the mirror, peering at his reflection trying to decipher how he feels about the day he just had.

The conflicting emotions inspired by his father are complicated by the nerves he's suddenly feeling. Mindy is on the other side of the door, curled up in the guest bed. She's wearing one of his t-shirts, white letters that say _Columbia_ stretch across the front as she wiggles around underneath the sheets. She's even donned a clean pair of his boxers, the material taut across her ass does things to Danny that he can barely contemplate. Her spare collection of clothing is tumbling gently in the dryer at the end of the hall. Once she made her selection from his suitcase, Danny retreated to the bathroom for his own bedtime rituals. Neither of them ever corrected Alan's earlier assumption, and as a result they're now about to share a bed, which shouldn't be a big deal. It's a big bed, damn it.

But it _feels_ like a big deal. Nothing seems real to Danny, the atmosphere around him is strangely static, and he continually gets the sensation that he's dreaming. Alan's whole house feels surreal, decorated in the same year Danny was born. It's easy to imagine Alan moving in and not bothering to replace the dated fixtures or footworn carpeting. The little pieces of the man scattered here and there stick out like a sore thumb.

The former owners must have had an affinity for landscapes, because there's one on just about every wall, tucked in between Alan's black and white pictures. The mountainscape on the wall behind him is reminiscent of the obligatory artwork hung on hotel walls, cheap and mass produced. The paint is discolored, the once bright whites and warm ochres all fading to a nondescript yellowish hue.

It is no use trying to untangle the life Alan led after he left New York. Looking at the photos in the hall tells Danny nothing. Baseball players and chorus girls, stark black and white photos of the beach, artistic shots of dockworkers. But, somehow, finding nothing is exactly what Danny needs. Alan is not a man worth wasting his life stewing over. He's just sad and alone.

He would call it an epiphany, but the word has too much of a religious connotation to Danny. It hardly seems fitting in this situation, even if meeting Mindy does seem to fall into the 'things that cannot be explained' category. Her effect on him certainly seems nothing short of hypnotic.

He would have scoffed if anyone had told him that the mere touch of another person could be so reassuring, that someone so small and colorful could make him feel protected, or even that he needed to feel that way… It's utterly ridiculous. She's a tiny woman, the top of her head barely reaching his chin, with what she calls "minimal" upper body strength (although he thinks that's just because she doesn't like clearing kitchen tables). But how else can he explain the changes in his behavior in the past two days? He meditated, for christ's sake.

She's snoring when he enters the bedroom, blankets pulled up over her lead like a cocoon. He wonders what new form she'll take when she emerges from the chrysalis, all bright colors and loud noises. Will she fly away?

He reaches for the blanket, tugging one edge from where it's tucked beneath her before sliding into the warm space she's created. He thinks she's asleep when she turns toward him, her arms slipping around him before she settles back down. He jumps a little when she speaks.

"How long do you need?"

"Huh?"

"Here with your dad."

"I think... I'm done." Unlike all the other times before, when he says these words this time they aren't bitter, just true.

She sighs against him, hot air puffing out against his chest where she has her face pressed up against the cotton tee. "Mindy, what are you doing?"

Just in case she doesn't understand his question, he gestures to their intertwined limbs, eyebrows raised in curiosity.

She gives him a little squeeze and says, "You need a hug. Friends give hugs. No funny stuff. I promise."


	17. Tell Me

"We're not friends." Danny regrets the statement before it even finishes echoing off the walls around them. He can feel her tense against him, closing in on herself as she pulls away. His brain is frantically trying to form an apology, but he doesn't know what to say. He's never had a friend who could preoccupy him so entirely. He's never gotten lost thinking about the way a friend's lips taste. Damn it, they aren't friends. There something else, but he doesn't have the words for it. He remains still and waits for a spirited argument, but it doesn't come.

Her reply is soft and resigned as she slips away from him. "You're right. We barely even know each other."

The mattress shifts as she turns into her other side, back facing him like a sheer cliff he just can't conquer. He watches the off balance ceiling fan make a dozen or so revolutions, each go-round punctuated with a faint squeak. There are little dust bunnies clinging tenaciously to the edges of the blades, impervious to the whipping air. Danny's eyes track the movement, some far away place in his head wondering when they'll be swept away. Eventually the incessant squeaking takes on the cadence of a word: idiot.

He sighs and turns toward her. "Maybe I'm wrong. You do know more about me than anyone back in New York..." He trails off, unsure of what to say. The sentence hangs suspended in the air above them.

"But?" She's still not facing him.

"But I don't know much about you."

"You haven't asked much."

He feels like he's being run through one of those old fashion washing machines, and Mindy's cranking the handle as she wrings him out. He's not a talker. "Uh..." What the hell is he supposed to ask? Her favorite color? Food? He scans desperately to think of something he can express genuine interest in, and finally it clicks. "Why did you want to become a doctor?"

This time she turns to face him before speaking. It's dim in the room, but not dark. Alan's curtains are thin against the window pane, and he never bothered to install blinds. Moonlight filters into the room nearly unimpeded.

"Ok, I know it's totally cliche, but I just want to help people, to educate them, help them live better lives."

Danny doesn't comment on the fact that she's using the present tense, but he can't ignore the eagerness in her voice. It makes him feel like he's glowing from the inside out, the ember of his own ambition a mirror image of the ones flaring to life in her eyes. There's no reason she can't still do those things. He knows he would try and leap buildings to make this happen for her, run through the streets chasing the same dream. It scares him a little and he consciously backs away from the feeling. "Yeah that's pretty cliche."

She punches him in the shoulder, laughing as she asks, "What about you?"

Blowing out a long breath, he closes his eyes. His reasons are far from cliche, in fact they border on cynical and he's almost afraid to tell her... almost. "Because... I wanted to prove people wrong. I wanted proof that I didn't need anyone else's help. I wanted the status, the money I never had. Power."

"Gross."

She's smiling at him as she says it, and it's his turn to laugh. "It really is. I think I got lucky though."

"Oh?"

"You find out pretty quickly that those things aren't enough to get you through med school. Those cliche things... they have to be true too." He stops, abruptly, catching the way she glances at him in the moonlight. There's a self satisfied little smile on her face, like she's a kitten that's just lapped up a bowl of cream, drunk on her own wiles. They're talking about him again. "Wait, this is supposed to be about you, remember?"

She looks contrite, as if she's been caught shoplifting candy bars at a gas station (something that's only happened once, or maybe thrice, in the past). "Alright, alright. What else do you want to know?"

"Something embarrassing."

She taps her index finger on her chin as if she's thinking, the round tip of her nail barely denting the smooth skin as she contemplates her next words. "I could always tell you the story of my first period." She's smiling devilishly at him, and he feels something different from desire course through him. It's edges aren't as sharp. It reminds him of the first time he ever drank whisky, a slow warmth settling in his stomach, tingling out through all his limbs. This is a sensation impervious to cold showers and baseball statistics. It's unshakable.

"That's tactic's not gonna work, I'm a gynecologist. These things are _fascinating._ "

"What tactic?" She's the picture of innocence, propped up on her elbow as she looks over at him. A curtain of her hair falls over one shoulder, eyes wide as platters. He remembers the way she looked the first time he saw her, and this time he gives in to the impulse to reach out and thread his fingers through her gently cascading hair.

"Tell me." Gently combing through the silken strands, he marvels at its texture and warmth, forgetting for a moment what they're talking about.

Her chest rises and falls as she takes a shaky breath. "Well, um, I was wearing white, of course."

The pad of Danny's thumb grazes the small patch of skin displayed at the base of her throat, brushing against the hollow before shifting to find her pulse. "That's the worst."

He can feel her swallow before continuing. "And I was, um, on stage… performing."

"Oh?"

When she nods, the bottom of her chin bumps against his hand, and she instinctively jerks it back up. "Yeah, seventh grade..." She trails off as he scoots a little closer, his weight dipping the mattress and pitching her forward just enough to make things seem a little too warm. "... talent show. My one woman dramatic reading of Romeo and Juliet's death scene had a rapt audience."

"Undoubtedly."

Mindy blinks a couple times, a sudden focused determination glinting in her eyes. The faint tremble he feels under his fingertips stills momentarily, and Danny falters, unsure of the effect he's having. A grin spreads across her face and she finishes her story, transforming into a consummate storyteller as she narrates the final scene. "Just as distraught Juliet plunged the cardboard dagger into her broken heart, aka under her left arm, Judah Finkelstein rather dramatically announced 'She's bleeding!' to the entire auditorium."

Danny snorts out an unattractive guffaw and collapses into laughter beside her. "Oh, man... you're kidding."

"For one brief shining moment, I thought it was simply my astounding thespian skills that had created the illusion of blood." Her head rests on the pillow beside his now, lying as they are, shoulder to shoulder. "Sadly, it was all too real..." Trailing off, she stares as the ceiling, her hand finding his cradled in the blankets between them. "Maybe I could stay in L.A., be an actress."

"Do you want to be an actress?" The question is an afterthought, distracted as he is by her soft palm and the slim fingers threaded between his own.

"No." Mindy infuses the single syllable with melancholy, closing her eyes against the moonlight.

"What do you want?"

"I don't know. I wanted to be a doctor for so long, and I threw it away. Sometimes I feel like I threw everything else away along with it."

"Everything else?"

She hesitates, opening and closing her mouth a couple times before she can articulate her deepest desires. The vulnerability in the action fills Danny with the need to hold her close. It's a strange sensation, and at first he doesn't hear her quietly spoken words.

"I wanted to fall in love, to live in Manhattan, to get married and have three stair-step kids named after my favorite book characters. I wanted a closet just for shoes, Louboutins next to my worn out mom sneaks."

Danny can hear her voice getting thicker, and he knows it's his cue to step in and say something reassuring, just like she's done for him so effortlessly in the past two days. He wants to tell her he can give her all of those things, but deep down he doesn't believe it. Her dreams seem so fantastical, even in a perfect world. No one gets to have that kind of life. "It sounds like a movie."

He sounds skeptical, but she merely shimmies closer to him, sighing out her agreement. "Yeah."

Words are failing him, so he does the only thing he can think of, drawing her into a gentle embrace to give her the only comfort he's ever had any practice with. Grasping her chin, he tips her face up toward his own. Her eyes fly open full of questions, darting down to his lips nervously. Long soft eyelashes flutter against his cheek bones when he closes the space between them, capture her lips with his own.


	18. Funny Stuff

When he kisses her, it's soft, a tentative plundering of her warmth. He thinks she might be holding her breath, as still as she is against him. But as he begins to pull away, sure that he's made a mistake, she shudders, pulling in a ragged gulp of air. Looking at her, he wills the question caught in his throat to break free. Nothing comes.

But she's perceptive, a shy smile quirking at her lips as she nods. It's all the encouragement he needs, one arm curling around her and hauling her close as his free hand finds her face.

This time his lips are firm, and she responds in kind, igniting like so much kindling under a freshly struck match. Her hands clutch desperately at him, one fisted in his shirt while the other reaches down between them to explore the extent of his arousal. The change in pace elicits a poorly concealed groan from Danny, his reaction becoming something undeniable pressed against her thigh.

Between them they generate enough warmth to heat an entire house, and the cocoon of blankets quickly becomes suffocating. Danny unceremoniously tosses the bedding aside before shedding his own suddenly oppressive tshirt.

Stopping to catch his breath, he looks down at her as she scrambles out of her borrowed clothing. The nearly hysterical urge to laugh zips through him, assessing the situation. He feels like he's traveled back in time, a giddy teenager clandestinely making love to his girlfriend while his father sleeps across the hall. It's not a rite of passage he ever imagined trying to recreate.

His amusement fades the moment she stops struggling with the shirt, whipping the well worn garment over her head and into the floor. Her hair crackles with electricity, and Danny can even see the tiny blue sparks in the darkness. He has the sudden urge to pinch himself in case it's some kind of dream, the moonlight doing strange things to her skin. She's like onyx laid out before him, glowing in the ghostly beams, every curve illuminated in stark detail.

Desire revs to life inside of him, threatening to take him over completely as he reaches for her, pulling her up from the mattress. They're both on their knees, thighs bumping as they frantically invade each other's space, thumbs hooking under the elastic bands of two matching pairs of boxers. The garments slide down easily, Mindy kicking hers off the edge of the bed before pouncing on him once again.

Pressing him firmly down into the mattress, Mindy straddles his waist. The delicately soft skin of her inner thighs brushing against his hips is torturous. There's nothing Danny wants more than to plunge heedlessly into the wet heat hovering so closely, but he holds her back just long enough to ask, "You're sure?"

Her ravenous expression softens briefly, and she leans forward to plant a sweet kiss on his lips. "Yes."

It's all he needs to hear, threading his fingers through the hair falling freely around her shoulders. He wants to look at her one more time like this, eyes wide, lips pouty from being kissed thoroughly. He has a feeling that she's about to completely consume him.

His fingers grip tightly at her hips, relishing the gentle give of her curves, urging her to take the reigns and show him what she's capable of. He's never been one to cede control in the bedroom, but there's something about the way her eyes glint when she looks down at him.

What comes is not what he's expecting. Her hands roam across his body, fingers tracing the lines of his pecs down to his ribs, lips following at she drops little kisses all over him. Her eyelashes flutter along his skin, sweeping away the last vestiges of his control. He wants nothing more than to flip her over and pin her to the bed, sinking into her with a satisfied groan.

Instead he waits for her to rise up over him, soft hands gently guiding him in the dark. The pace is slow and torturous, and even though he's yet to exert himself much, Danny is panting beneath her, chest rising and falling in a stuttering rhythm. She's doing the same, trembling breaths, the pulse at her neck jumping when she closes the space between them completely.

Slowly, she begins to rock, eyes drifting shut as she finds a rhythm that works for her. Danny thrusts in time with her hip rolls. When the expression on her face changes from dreamy pleasure, to intense concentration it's the last straw for him, the muscles in his legs quivering in anticipation.

His hand darts between them, stroking her clit as her pace increases. He can feel her tightening around him, little tremors every few seconds followed by thready moans. Pitching forward she buries her face in the hollow of his neck, crying out into his skin as she trembles against him. It's his cue, and he finally lets go, stars exploding behind his eyes as he shudders against her with an animalistic grunt.

It's only now that he realizes they were attempting to be quiet, an amused little chuckle escaping between attempts to catch his breath. Mindy turns, nuzzling the sensitive skin just beneath his ear. "What's so funny?"

"Stuff."


	19. Hold Your Breath

Alan's house is located in a picturesque spot. All Mindy can see as she looks across the moonlit horizon is a range of mountains outlined against a blanket of twinkling stars. The gently rolling hills building up to the sheer cliffs aren't marred by any city lights. The clouds have scurried off to the east, and her eyes adjust quickly to the bluish landscape.

She's sitting out on the roof of Alan's porch, the window to the guest bedroom open behind her. She can see the thin curtains fluttering from the corner of her eye. Her lungs tingle pleasantly as she draws in deep inhalations of sweet smelling smoke, faint wisps floating around her head.

She's only taken two hits, but already her limbs feel pleasantly loose, and her eyes droop down heavily. If she closes them for a second, she can imagine she's floating, a pleasant smile tugging at her lips.

Drifting to sleep in Danny's arms had been the most pleasant sensation. He was warm, and she could hear his heart racing on his chest as he drifted down from his climax. She was in a bit of a daze herself, the muscles in her lower abdomen and legs quivering with aftershocks.

The memory of his hands drifting idly up and down her naked body makes her face warm, blood rushing to the surface of her skin even as the cool air swirls around her.

When she woke unexpectedly, a pervasive restlessness settled over her. He was still cradling her gently, the rise and fall of his chest accompanied by the faintest rattle. It was an odd and rather endearing sound coming from someone who is so visibly fit.

Her fingertips itched to drift down the trail of hair traversing the taut lines of his stomach. She wanted him again, with a hungry desire that surprised her. It had been so long since she'd ached like this for someone. Her unanchored existence hadn't fostered many lasting relationships.

When she gave in to the physical need tonight, it had been one part animal lust and one part genuine affection. Danny was an easy person to care for, and it surprised her that there were seemingly so few people in his life that agreed with that sentiment.

The swift onset of these thoughts sent a little thrill of fear through her, stomach fluttering and chest tight. The realization that she was falling in love with him shocking enough to have her gingerly withdrawing from his embrace and donning the borrowed clothes once again.

Mindy takes another deeply indrawn breath, this time only fresh air filling her chest. The normally pleasant sensation she gets when smoking pot begins to abate. Her thoughts circling around the issue of possibly loving the man sleeping soundly somewhere behind her.

It's inevitable that when they leave here they will part ways, Danny heading back to New York in his dusty rental car, and Mindy getting on a bus back to Boston. The mere thought makes her throat tight and she's fighting against the tears that occasionally slip down her cheeks. Her chin drops down into the collar of her blue poncho, the scent of Alan's detergent drifting up from the toasty garment.

She doesn't think she can go home on her own. She's not like Danny. She wouldn't have any trouble facing her parents, making amends. There's a deep reservoir of strength inside of her, and in all honesty she feels like she's been building up to this moment for a long time. It's just that the thought of letting go of him feels painful, a tearing sensation right under her ribs each time she takes a breath.

The universe is incredibly rude to do this to her, to let her finally find someone who notches into her heart like a corresponding puzzle piece. To send them to each other in such a haphazard manner, two days arguing in the desert, one passionate, if slightly frantic, bout of sex that left her reeling.

She thinks maybe she believes in things he doesn't, and this love bubbling up inside of her cannot possibly be reciprocated because he's not the kind of man to believe in love at all, let alone on such short notice.

She brings the joint to her lips, pinched tight between her fingers as the cherry gets perilously close to her skin. This time when she pulls in the aromatic smoke, she holds it longer, staring up at the shifting constellations. Her eyes are playing tricks on her.

* * *

Mindy is floating over him, all bright lights and tinkling laughter. She beckons him with the crook of one finger, biting her bottom lip like she wishes it were his flesh between her teeth, eyes lambent with unspent lust.

The room around him spins lazily, the dim earth tones shimmering and blending together as if it's a mirage. It's quite the contrast to the clarity of the woman hovering just out of grasp.

He reaches for her, intent on pulling her down into a heated embrace. He wants to slowly peel off the silken nightie she's wearing, blue with navajo patterns sliding across the shiny material. The movement makes him dizzy, and his hand passes right through her as if she's mist.

He's dreaming, and he knows it. If he can just reach out and grab her, pull her back down to the bed with him, he's certain he'll wake up with her sleeping in his arms. He can still feel her pressed up against him, the smell of her floral perfume in his nostrils.

He sits up in desperation, swinging out both arms to catch her, only this time when they pass through her ethereal form, the image wavers, wafting away like smoke in the wind.

He thinks maybe he's having a heart attack, the painful squeezing in his chest pushing the air out of his lungs as he tries to call out her name. But she's gone, and nothing he can do will change that.

When he wakes, he's panting, a sheen of sweat cooling on his forehead. He turns to gather her up, to rain kisses down in her happy face, to bury his nose in the tangled locks of hair, but he finds nothing.

The bed is empty, blankets drawn up under his chin as if he'd been tucked in. Which she must have done, because he distinctly recalls falling asleep naked with her, limbs tangled together on top of the fitted sheet, blankets in a messy pile on the floor. He sits up, just like in his dream, pulse pounding erratically as he looks around.

His heart only slows when he notices the open window, cool air carrying the notes of a softly hummed melody into the bedroom. His boxers are on the floor beside him, and he slips them on before padding as quietly as possible to the open window.

The sash is rough hewn, little tiny splinters rough against the palms of his hands, and the air whipping the curtains around makes him shiver. It creates a blanket of goosebumps chasing across his skin. He can see her out on the roof, knees tucked up under her trusty poncho. She looks tiny, like a child swaddled up to the neck.

He can't quite make out what she's humming to herself, but it sounds sad, a refrain that repeats over and over again. One of his knees is up and over the window sash without thinking, and she turns to face him when he scrambles out onto the roof.

He can see the faintly glowing ember pinched between her fingers, and her reason for being out here becomes clear. Funny enough, it doesn't bother him at all, but rather sparks a curiosity he's always been too afraid to entertain.

 **A/N: your thoughts mean the world to me, don't be shy. :D**


	20. Shh

"I thought you'd left me." That is not what Danny means to say at all. It's entirely too vulnerable, tacking on 'me' at the end. Scrambling to qualify the revealing statement, he says, "I mean... I woke up and you were gone." He winces and hopes she doesn't notice the slightly desperate edge to his voice.

He's close to her now, scooting near enough so that their hips are bumping. His adam's apple bobs, swallowing hard to intent on changing the subject. "Can I?" His hand is outstretched and he's nodding toward the joint pinched between her fingers.

Her eyes narrow. "Who are you and what have you done with Daniel Castellano?"

He laughs quietly. "I just had the trippiest dream. Did you spike the boxed wine?"

She laughs, and it's yet another new sensation to add to the catalogue of things the Mindy makes him feel. Sure, he's heard it several times in the past couple days, but this is the first time he's intentionally tried to make a joke. There really isn't anyone who would call Daniel Castellano a funny man, but things have been pretty surreal lately.

As a matter of fact he thinks he might still be dreaming, the shadows trembling slightly as he gazes out on the horizon. But then she laughs again, and he's reminded that it's nothing like in the dream, the reality of it punching him in the gut.

"Nope, the only high you got from that wine was a sugar-high." She passes him the joint, thin wisps of curling smoke wafting up to his nose. "Careful, it's basically a roach now and I don't have a clip, don't want to burn your fingers."

He brings it to his lips, unsure really of how to go about this, but he's seen movies and does his best impression of Cheech Marin as he inhales the sweet smoke, holding it in. It doesn't feel all that different than the secretly smoked cigarettes he sometimes sneaks on stressful days. He's not sure what he thought would happen, but there are no sirens, no cuffs slapped on his wrists.

After a few seconds he blows the cloud of smoke, watching as the wind carries it away. She declines when he attempts to pass it back to her. "I've had enough. There's barely any left. You might as well finish it if you want a head change."

"Head change?"

She snickers. "Sorry, um, a head change... It's like, when you were a kid and you'd hang upside down and let all the blood rush to your head, and then you'd get this dizzy almost pleasant sensation when you stand back up."

He nods, not entirely sure if he understands what she means, or if it's even something one would want to experience, but it doesn't stop him from pulling at the joint until there's nothing left for the cherry to consume. "Interesting."

She snorts out a laugh, taking the tiny bit of rolling paper from between his fingers and flicking it out into the night. "You sound like a doctor."

"I _am_ a doctor."

He says it like it's a revelation even to himself, and this elicits a gale of laughter from Mindy. She ends up holding one hand over her mouth in an effort to suppress her amusement, lunging forward to press a finger to his lips. "Shhhh, we can't wake up your dad."

Danny doesn't think the pot is making him giddy, but happiness washes over him as he watches her shushing him... even though he's not the one making noise. He can't stop himself from blurting out, "I think I love you."

The words are all looped together mumbled against her fingertips, the tail of one attached to the head of another. For a second he thinks maybe he didn't say them out loud, but her wide eyed expression tells him the truth. He rushes to qualify the declaration. "I know it's too soon, it's ridiculous. I don't know what I'm saying. I'm sorry?"

She nods, backing away from him slowly. "I'm confused too, Danny. I don't understand what's happening here." She swallows, gathering courage. "I think, maybe... I could love you too?"

The fact that they both turn their statements into questions is not lost on either party. Mindy scooches closer to him, snaking on arm out to slip it under his own as she leans on him. "Do you think..." She trails off, unable to articulate her question fully.

"Can I come to Boston with you?"

Mindy's answer is an enthusiastic kiss, throwing her arms around his neck, practically climbing into his lap. He steadies himself on rough roof tiles, arms straining as he holds her close. The last thing he wants is to pitch off the roof, but it feels like kind of thing that would happen to him. Reluctantly, he pulls away, for the first time noticing the tear tracks on her face reflecting the moonlight.

He wipes away the remaining moisture with the pad of his thumb, lingering for a moment at the corner of her mouth. He can still feel the pressure of her lips on his, and wants more than anything to spend the rest of the night memorizing their texture. "What's that song you were humming earlier? It's familiar."

Embarrassment is written all over her face, and if they were sitting in the light of day, Danny's pretty sure he'd see an effusive blush making her cheeks rosy. "It's silly."

Closing his eyes, he hums a few bars of the melody, trying hard to place the lilting notes. Suddenly it clicks, his eyes flying open. He can't count the number of times he heard it growing up, children mockingly tossing the opening line at him after learning it in music class. It's a burden any child with a name in a song must bear. "Oh, Danny Boy?"

Danny lets out a peal of laughter, holding her closer. She snuggles into him. "Gimme a break, I'm stoned. One year of choir in high school and it's the only song I seem to remember."

"No wonder you were crying. That song is depressing."

"It seemed appropriate at the time." She sings softly into his chest, voice reedy yet clear. "Tis you, tis you must go and I must bide."

His chin is resting on her head, and Danny is grinning like an idiot. "You are so dramatic."

"Shut up."


	21. Handsome Jerk

LAX is not where Danny pictured himself at the end of his cross country trek. It's the last place on earth he wants to be, and he's pretty sure the button up he's wearing will be unsalvageable by the time they board the plane, his sweat glands working overtime along with his anxiety.

He's running crash statistics in his head, because the numbers don't lie. Planes are technically safer than driving, but christ, at least he has some sense of control in a car. He's gripping the armrest, his carry-on nestled between his knees as they wait for their flight to be called.

Mindy, on the other hand, is behaving as though she doesn't have a care in the world, sandal clad feet propped in an adjacent chair, flipping through a glossy magazine. She's chewing gum, the occasional pop making Danny flinch like someone's firing off shots.

"Ooh Danny, look at this. Tiramisu. I can't even remember the last time I had that. Italians like to cook, right?."

She flops the magazine over into his lap, little cardboard advertising inserts sliding from between the pages. He barely notices the litter, only nodding to acknowledge her comment. His mind is elsewhere, eyes darting down to his watch. "It's not too late. We can still go back to the rental place and get the car."

He's all breathy, and Mindy has sympathy for his fear. She honestly didn't know the extent of his phobia, and feels a little guilty about insisting on flying back to the east coast. "Planes are safe, and there's booze, and little tiny sandwiches. It'll be fine." She blows a big pink bubble as if to illustrate how carefree she is, wincing when it pops and sticks to her nose.

His head snaps around to her. "Did you get rid of your..." He glances around to make sure no one is eavesdropping, before dramatically whispering, "stuff?"

"Yes officer, totally stuffless. My stuff is lying in the desert where coyotes and diamondback rattlesnakes can use it to go on spirit quests." She's entirely focused on picking the gum residue off of her cheek, and only turns to look at him when he doesn't respond to her flippant remark.

She knows his anxiety is at its peak when he doesn't take issue with her sarcasm, instead swallowing hard and picking up the abandoned paperback beside him. She sticks the wad of gum underneath her seat and turns to him. "Hey. It's going to be fine. I'll be right here with you."

The book drops to the floor as he turns to face her, a pained expression twisting his features. "It's not just flying... I just... You don't know..." He struggles to articulate what he's thinking.

Mindy frowns in confusion, uncharacteristically quiet as she waits for him to find the words. For the first time since their conversation on the roof she feels unsure of herself. She shifts uncomfortably, regretting her short-shorts as the backs of her legs stick unpleasantly to the plastic seat. The press of many bodies is making the enclosed space a little too warm for her liking.

Trying to change the subject, he asks, "Why aren't you nervous? You haven't seen your parents in... years?"

Mindy nods, a little uncomfortable with the sudden shift. "I am nervous, but..." She doesn't know what to say. The thought of seeing her mother especially after so long makes her throat tight and tears spring to her eyes. There's so much love that's just been waiting in the reservoir around her heart, and there's a really small part of her that wonders if it'll be received when it pours out. "I have to tell myself they love me enough to forgive me. It's what family does."

This should make Danny feel better. She has this infinite capacity for forgiveness, and he really is in awe of it, but it only serves to highlight the disparity between their personalities. Instead of seeing it as a safe haven, he sees how easy it would be to hurt her. He bursts into speech, a deluge of words pouring out of him at breakneck speed. "I'm different in New York. I have an ex-wife who hates me, and I hate her too. My coworkers think I'm a jerk, mostly because I _am_ a jerk, I spend too much time at the hospital, and watch boring documentaries when I do go home. You don't want to be stuck with me in New York."

He looks so defeated, her heart breaks a little, and she feels guilty for the relief coursing through her veins. She was afraid that Danny was about to renege on his confession, write it off as a drug fueled hallucination. This kind of insecurity seems more manageable. "I won't lie. The ex wife thing is a surprise, but Danny, lots of people are divorced. Just because something ended, doesn't mean that you failed. The bad times don't erase the good."

"You don't understand. I made her hate me. I made her bitter. She cheated on me, but it was _my_ fault. There was a time in the beginning when she felt like you do, excited and supportive. It didn't last, and it's right that she left, because I never would have. I would have just continued being a horrible husband."

Mindy is growing alarmed, not because of the things he's telling her, but because his words are thick with pain and he looks like he's already given up. She can't help the sharp tone in her voice when she replies. "Excuse me, but if you haven't noticed, I'm not your ex-wife. And I know it's only been a few days, but I know you better than you think. It takes two people, Danny."

She places a hand on his arm, softening her voice. "You just need a little encouragement. You can step out of your comfort zone to help people, to grow. You make me want to go back and clean up the messes I've made. I'll always be grateful for that, even if things do go sour between us."

She kisses him softly, barely pulling away to say. "I've seen you be a jerk, and I still want to jump your bones."

"Yeah?"

"Of course, you idiot. Have you seen yourself naked?"

Her breath puffs out softly against his neck as she whispers into his ear, and he turns to capture her lips in a deeper kiss, stopping only when a fellow traveler clears his throat rather indignantly.

 **A/n: Sorry if this got a little too schmaltzy. :P Couldn't help it I suppose. Let me know what you think.**


	22. Sugar on Top

**A/N: Last chapter! (plus epilogue) I'm so happy to be finally able to mark this story as complete. Thanks so much for the kind reviews and comments.**

Danny is still a nervous wreck when the plane takes off, but it's only images of plunging to a fiery death that plague him. He's not really worried about anything else, and when they hit turbulence Mindy's hand is right there for him to hold onto, an anchor that he doesn't let go of until long after the ride evens out.

He'll never get used to the way adrenaline makes all the colors around him pop, the way the tiniest details jump out at him. It's as if his life is suddenly in high definition and the normally intangible thoughts are technicolor. It's amazing how clear everything suddenly is. He quietly follows her a few minutes after she gets up to find a flight attendant, hunting for something to drink.

The air in the cabin is somewhat stale, blowing from tiny vents just over the drink carts Mindy's standing at, pondering the selection. They're tucked away in the back of the plane, an oasis of privacy in the cramped cabin. His heart is beating out of his chest again, but it's not from fear any longer, it's just pure unadulterated love for the person he's staring at.

She's oblivious to his presence, carefully vetting each item in front of her. His eyes light on the thin tank she's wearing, the smooth slope of her shoulder begging to be touched. Her hair is piled on top of her head in a messy bun, exposing the curve of her neck. He woke this morning with his nose buried in that hollow, and he decided then and there it would be a wonderful place to live.

He regrets his half declaration on the roof, because it's a paltry version of what he wanted to say. They don't really know each other, and everything about the path laid out in front of them looks rocky, but she makes him want to be a better version of himself, the best version.

Striding toward her is the easiest thing he's ever done. She jumps with a little squeak when he hooks his hand in her elbow, spinning her around so he can look into her eyes when he says, "I love you."

He almost wishes he could fight the urge to pull her in for a ravishing kiss, because the look on her face is something he wants imprinted in his memory for the rest of his life. But the need to feel her, to consume her, wins out in the end.

 **EPILOGUE**

There's a reason everyone loves fall in New York. The air is crisp and there's always the faint smell of woodsmoke just floating on the breeze. Mindy doesn't even mind that all of the orange decorations and occasional flashes of foliage kind of clash with seventy-five percent of her wardrobe. On days like this she happily clutches her pumpkin-spice latte as she steps through the elevator doors. She even has a plain black cup of joe nestled in the crook of her arm just for Danny.

She doesn't have time to call out his name, because as soon as the double doors slide open, he's striding across the reception area and escorting her back to his office like she's a delicate piece of china, one hand firmly planted on the small of her back as he calls out to Betsy to hold his calls while he's on lunch. He relieves her of both coffees, sniffing suspiciously at her latte. "Decaf?"

"Of course."

"Just checking." He says this sheepishly, and gives her a quick peck on the cheek in apology. "So, what's the rush today? You said you only have fifteen minutes or so for lunch."

She's practically bouncing with excitement, eyes bright as she beams up at him. "They're going to make me a partner, Danny. I can feel it. And I'm going to have my own meditation center for expectant mothers." Rummaging around in her back, she yanks out a portfolio, flipping it open so Danny can look at it.

It's an organized explosion of colors and shapes, plans for an addition to the practice up stairs, charts detailing empirical research of her preferred methods of healing. His fingers brush along the edges of a particularly eye popping pie chart, grin spreading across his face. "Babe, this is amazing."

She nods happily. " _And_ Duncan took a look at it for me this morning, to see if I'm the right track, and he said it looks like I have a real connection with the universe."

A short little chuckle escapes Danny. "You know, I've always liked those guys."

Mindy rolls her eyes, snatching up her pumpkin concoction. "Oh, puh-lease. You told me Brendan was a pompous granola-eating asshat. Which, by the way, you eat more granola than anyone I know, so I don't see how that's an insult."

Danny shrugs. "Well, Duncan isn't so bad anyway. He knew the sex of the baby before anyone else."

Mindy nods, tracing the curve of her distended stomach out of habit. "To be fair, he had a fifty/fifty shot. Anyway, they'll have to be idiots not to make me partner. Their clientele has nearly doubled since I took over their talk therapy sessions." She's getting too big to sit comfortably in Danny's straight backed office chairs, and her breathing is a little short already from the excitement. "Help me up."

Danny obliges, his own hands lingering on the sides of her waist after he's hauled her out of the chair. He does the thing Mindy loves, resting his forehead against hers, breathing her in as if he can't get enough. She always wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him in for a kiss. This time is no exception.

She can feel tears slipping down her cheeks, and tries to wipe them away before Danny notices, but it's a futile exercise. He dashes the remaining moisture away with his thumbs, and looks at her expectantly. "Hey, what is it?"

"I never could have imagined this two years ago, Danny.

It feels like a lifetime that he picked her up, trudging along the side of the road at night. Sometimes his heart skips a beat, fluttering up in his throat, when he thinks about how he could have so easily missed her.

"With the extra money that comes with the partnership, I'll be able to clear all of the student loan debt away finally."

He knows what it means, and his heart soars at the mere thought. They've been living in his apartment, really feeling just how cramped it is with two people, let alone three. There had been so many real estate opportunities that he'd wanted to jump on, houses in Brooklyn, brownstones in Manhattan, but she'd flat out refused to let him buy a place on his own. She wanted to be able to contribute to their family's home.

He wants to pick her up and spin her around, just like in those ridiculous movies she fills the DVR up with, but it's a little difficult with their child resting between them, so he settles for holding her as tightly as possible, peppering kisses all over her face.

She pulls away, gasping with laughter. "Alright, alright. I have to go. I have to take five minutes to give myself a pep talk before my proposal." They're walking through reception when she stops abruptly, eyes wide. "Oh Danny, don't forget-"

"Your parents are coming for dinner, yes you won't let me forget."

She nods. "Chicken marsala?"

"Coq au vin."

She knows what they're having for dinner, she just wants to hear him over-enunciate the italian words. Biting her bottom lip to keep from laughing, she continues. "And those little fried donut hole looking things?"

"Zeppole."

"Mmm, with extra powdered sugar?"

The elevator doors slide open, and Danny leans forward to give her one last kiss. "Double dusted, as always. I know what you like."

"You certainly do."

 **THE END.**


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